Ætharr of Calador, Book 2 Temptation of Power
by Bob Stage
Summary: Picking up where the first left off, it follows Ætharr, Judos, Thornback, and the rest in their adventures in this saga. Completed at last, so stay tuned for Ætharr of Calador, Book 3: The Ealdor.
1. Chapter 1

**Ætharr of Calador**

I don't own Redwall, or Gangs of New York

_**Book 2: Temptation of Power**_ Prologue 

Oorlog woke to a sunny morning, and a delight in his soul.

Two triumphs had awaited him on his arrival to Klinus' stronghold the previous night. One had pleased him so much it took all his self-restraint not to dance and sing in front of everyone.

Ætharr of Calador, Ealdor in Exile, and leader of the allied forces in opposition to him, was captured, and being held in the prison.

Such news was so pleasing that he had wanted immediately to humiliate the young weasel, but personal advice persuaded against it.

So he was content to watch Klinus deny the prisoners food. Then he had a grand feast, and went to bed.

The next morning he went to Klinus' hall.

Klinus was seated on the throne at the far end of the hall. Beside him on a smaller throne sat his eighth and latest wife, Theta, a pretty, but terrified creature half his age and size. Klinus had many children, most of them bastard born.

Oorlog personally detested Klinus, considering him only a pawn in his clever scheme of domination. Klinus was a brute that only knew how to oppress and kill, which made him useful for now, but easily disposable without too much harm. The thing that made him so useful, though, was the fact that he led almost eleven hundred beasts, a full third of his forces. If it weren't for that, Klinus would already be dead.

But for now, Oorlog put on a smile as he greeted Klinus, "A good day to you my friend."

Klinus grunted, "I be grateful that I'm one o' yer friends."

The polecats greeted each other, the latter bowing clumsily to the former.

Oorlog suddenly caught Theta's eye. Theca blanched, and pretended to straighten her robes. Oorlog smiled evilly, thinking that he could do away with Klinus sooner than he thought.

Gazing back down to Klinus, he said in a honeyed voice, "I would like to see the Calador bastard. Bring him here, please."

Klinus nodded like a wild bear, roared for the nearest guards, and scrambled upright to appear dignified.

Oorlog suddenly looked at Klinus, "What did you do with the captive I sent you some time back?"

Klinus smiled crookedly, and was about to speak when the guards returned, holding a struggling weasel between them.

Ætharr was snarling at the beasts dragging him, calling them cowards, daring them to find twenty others to fight him.

Oorlog could not resist a hearty guffaw. It got Ætharr's attention, and he roared a stream of insults about the polecat.

Klinus shrieked in anger, and ran towards the guards.

"Hold him up!" He yelled.

The guards grinned, and held Ætharr as Klinus rained kicks and punches on the young weasel.

After Ætharr was clearly unconscious, Klinus yelled for ice-cold water. When it was brought, Ætharr was thrown into it.

He spluttered awake, refusing to admit his pain. Oorlog raised an eyebrow, "So, are you as mighty as you once thought you were?"

Ætharr stared balefully up at the warlord, "No might in the world will prise my claws from your throat. Nothing but death: yours or mine, either one."

Oorlog smiled down on him, and kicked him hard in the ribs. Ætharr's jaw tightened, but that was the only reaction he gave.

Oorlog laughed, "I suppose this your answer. It is to be your death, not mine."

Ætharr gave a truly frightening look, "Fate will confirm that, for it is unavoidable. As is your death if I have the chance."

Oorlog sighed at the stubbornness of Ætharr, and gave a last kick to Ætharr's rump.

Oorlog looked at Klinus, "We'll leave those blows as a taste for what's coming up."

Klinus laughed, and ordered Ætharr put back in the cage.

Oorlog, while Klinus had his back turned, glanced at Theta again, making sure she saw it. Theta looked at the floor, neither wanting Oorlog to look at her like that, or her husband to intervene.

Oorlog began to think of how he could eliminate Klinus, and still finish on top. And truly, what was there to stop him? He had the power of the other Hunan warlords behind him, and Ætharr was locked in a cage. True, there was Ædall to lead the Caladors alongside Ibos and Blackaxe, but surely they wouldn't be as quick to listen to him as they would listen to Ætharr.

Oorlog smiled to himself as he patted the new sword on his belt. It was the greatest weapon he had ever seen. Although slightly small on him, it was nevertheless a deadly sword; the red pommel, the black hilt, the ice-cold blade… flawless.

Oorlog thought of the two creatures that his soldiers had taken it from. A shrew and an otter. He laughed, trying to think of how two scrawny youths had possession of such an incredible sword.

"Something I said, lord?" Klinus had heard Oorlog laugh.

Oorlog looked at the big and clumsy Klinus. 'Soon,' he thought, 'you will be eating out of my paw if you're lucky. No, it would be much better to kill you. And when I do, it will be so that your soldiers will follow me without a doubt that I am innocent of your death.'

That was what Oorlog thought, but what he said was, "I was just thinking of how we could best torture Ætharr."

Klinus sniggered, "He won't break easily. I've seen such creatures before."

Oorlog smiled, "He will break hard. I'm going to make sure of it."


	2. Chapter 2

1

Thornback knew he was dying.

He had run from the mountain some three weeks previously. It had been three weeks of hell. Running along the shore had been painful, and had only succeeded in provoking a tribe of toads. Then came the marsh and forest. He had gotten a cold, and had developed a sore in his right foot paw.

He now lay in a small clearing. Rays of sunlight danced in tune with the swaying tree branches. The greens shone, and the leaves whispered contentedly.

Thornback was anything but content. He had mostly been living off the very occasional fish from the marsh or the ocean pools. Here in the forest, there was precious little to eat; at least nothing he wanted to risk. As a son of the mountain, he could not trust the many different berries growing in clusters.

He had not eaten anything decent in days. He had only had a few gulps of bracken water in the last two days. He felt so weak that he doubted he could walk two steps if he stood. He wished that he had collected rations from the mountain before leaving. Wasn't he supposed to be the smart and practical one of the family?

He thought of Roaveen and Oakfur. Why were they doomed to be his enemies? They were his flesh and blood, like Korari. How was Korari? Was he still struggling against Roaveen? And what about Roaveen? Did he feel sad that his brother had fled the mountain?

Slowly, as delirium began to take over his mind, a word escaped his parched mouth, "Father…"

"-Well, I ain't exactly your pater, old lad, but it don't matter too much to you, eh old lad?"

Thornback was suddenly surprised back into awareness. Who had said that? His eyes looked round as best as could be done.

All of a sudden, something appeared in the corner of his eye. It was flying towards him, closer, closer…

It fell by his outstretched paw. It was a canteen!

With some of his last strength, he reached out to grab it. Ripping off the seal with a barbaric greed, he began to tip it to his open maw when the voice called out, "I say there, don't drink it all, unless you have nothing to live for! Baby sips, I know that you're dying of thirst, but it has to be baby sips."

'He's right.' A voice in his head said. He began to take regulated sips.

When he had finally had his fill, he got up. "Good sir! Where are you?" He called out towards the greenery, "I'd like to thank you."

"Bother that, I can bally well hear you from here, thank you very much!" Finding it very funny, the voice followed his answer with loud laughs.

Thornback shrugged, realising that this creature was playing games with him, "Well, in that case, I shall just go on my way…Aaargh!"

The last was a shout of surprise, for in front of him, a hare had appeared out of nowhere.

"Lieutenant Ebsenor Fornicopulus Suppullis, delighted to make your acquaintance, ole chap!"

Thornback was blown over by this hare.

Ebsenor Fornicopulus Suppullis ('was that his name?' Thornback wondered) was the strangest hare he had ever seen, and hares had surrounded him all his life at Salamandastron.

Ebsenor had mostly light grey fur, with flecks of black around his nose, and flecks of grey on his bobtail. White hairs had sprouted throughout his fur. A green military tunic, complete with little medals, clothed him efficiently for disguise in the forest. Looking at it closer, Thornback realised that it was woven from vines. Leaves were tied to his ears, hind legs, and neck. He was armed with a longbow with a design distinctly like that of Salamandastron: an arrow bag bulged with his missiles. To cap it off, a long dirk of the finest steel rested in a sheath close to his right paw.

The hare offered a leg to Thornback; he had a look that suggested a wealth of experience seen by those dark, laughing eyes.

Thornback nodded solemnly, returning the greeting, but suddenly the gnawing pain in his head suddenly began to throb. He clutched his head, wanting to sit down again.

At once, Ebsenor was at the young badger's side, "Feeling pains in the head, eh? Scoff these down, old lad, you'll be right as rain." He offered a white compound. Not caring what it was, Thornback swallowed it all down.

He glanced at the hare, "I should thank you for my life-er, Ebsenor, isn't it?"

Ebsenor shrugged it off, "Ah, it's a mouthful, I admit. Call me Ebs, all me friends used to."

"Used to?" Thornback was puzzled.

Ebs shrugged, "Ain't seen em for a while now. Been out here, they're off somewhere else."

"Oh." Thornback felt a pang of sympathy for this hare. All alone in the wild, his friends long out of touch. Thornback was hit with a case of homesickness.

Ebs peered at the young badger, "So, who are you an' where you from? If you pardon my asking, wot."

Thornback smiled briefly, but then felt it slide off his face as he said, "I am Thornback, second son of Lord Oakfur, Ruler of Salamandastron."

Lt. Ebs stiffened, "Lord Oakfur, you say? Of Salamandastron too?"

Thornback nodded, "You know my father?"

Lt. Ebs looked grim for the first time, as if a mask had been torn off his face, "Oh I know your father, old lad. I do indeed. He's the reason why I haven't seen my friends for so long, in a manner of speaking."

"What!?"

The hare shrugged, it's a very long story. Too long for now; we're very near the Painted Ones' territory."

Thornback stared at the hare, "The Painted Ones?"

Ebs nodded, "A bunch of scallydollop rats who dress up as monsters. They attack from the trees, catching you by surprise. Scoundrels are also cannibals to boot."

Thornback shuddered, "Let's get out of here then. The sooner we put a big distance between them and ourselves, the better off we'll be."

He had just said this, a loud shrieking exploded in the trees.

Ebs stared shocked at the badger, "I had no idea they traveled this far! Leg it, young feller!"

Suddenly a great number of chattering sounded above them, calling in a language known only to them. Some vines snaked their ways down to the ground. A group of rats, dressed a lot like Ebs, slid down.

Thornback and Ebs began to bolt. Ebs, though quite older than Thornback, bounded off rapidly, dodging between the trees.

Thornback decided to think of another way to escape. He saw a crack in the earth, just ahead of him.

The sense of a primitive age taking over, the young badger began to dig with his powerful claws. They bit deep into the soft ground.

The calls of the Painted Ones sounded louder and louder behind him, almost above him. Fear almost blinded him as he dug faster.

Too late. A large net enveloped him, trapping him.

With screams of victory ringing in his ears, Thornback was hoisted upwards into the canopy of the forest.

The rats were everywhere. They leered, cackled, and licked their chops. Fear began to swell in him.

Suddenly he saw that Ebs, despite his quick speed, had also been caught. He was tied next to the badger. Another creature was there, but Thornback was not paying any attention to it. He called to Ebs, and for that he received a rain of blows.

The rats chattered in their own tongue, several of them pointing at the three creatures and followed with rubbing their stomachs.

"Thornback, ole lad, we need to think of something."

Thornback was surprised and amazed. The hare was a ventriloquist, barely moving his mouth. This lieutenant got more and more unique and crazy with every passing minute.

"Aye, we should. And it has to be soon, before their appetites are well wetted. What do you think?" he responded.

"First, let's wait for them to disperse."

Thornback glanced at the repulsive rodents, who were also thinning out, probably on the lookout for more victims. In the meantime, half a dozen guards made positions among the branches in a crude but effective circle.

"So, there's six of em'. In that case, we'll have to look for loopholes in this formation."

"That could take days, though! And we don't have days- we might not even have hours, let _alone_ days!"

"I say, there, calm down, old chum. We have to think of something that won't take too long." Thornback knew that Ebbs was right.

"I have an idea that will get the three of us out of here, and fast." This was not Lt. Ebbs talking, but the creature on the other side of Thornback, which neither had paid too much attention to.

Thornback looked over, and saw the strangest-looking creature he had ever seen in his life.


	3. Chapter 3

2

Abbott Varrus listened to a soft warbling of a bird. He could not tell what kind it was, but the sound of the singing was so sweet, it drove him near to tears.

"Abbott, you wanted to speak to me?"

It was Arly Punto, the accented labourer-cum-cellar keeper. Only recently, the body of Slade the Sane had been found in his cellar. He had been a crazy old beast, who would gibber and laugh uncontrollably.

Someone had murdered him. Varrus was indefinitely sure of it.

He now looked at the hedgehog, "Have you rounded up the visitors and kept them from leaving?"

Arly nodded unsteadily, "I got em' all in, in, the Great Hall, know what I'm sayin'? I mean…' He reddened, forgetting that he was speaking to the Abbott, 'I mean I have em' secured. Foremole is looking after them for now."

The old otter nodded solemnly, "Very well. Thank you Alonzo." He could never stand calling him Arly. Maybe it was due to the fact that he had known Arly from infanthood. The hedgehog had, in fact, been best friends with Jander, but decided to stay when Jander went off alone.

Arly blushed and smiled fondly, as he always did when someone called him Alonzo, and glanced enquiringly at the Abbott, "So what now?"

Varrus sighed deeply. He was very tired, having been haunted the previous night by the ghost of Slade. It had been so hellish, and so reminiscing of his past.

A past that few truly knew about.

The Abbott looked at Arly, "I would like you to tell me how many there are."

Arly looked thoughtful, "Well… there's an otter named Hella, but she's a regular visitor of Redwall- Skipper's actually taken with her- so I doubt she's the one. There's three bank vole brothers, can't remember their names. There's an old fox- Elial or something- we were looking after 'im in the Infirmary. There's a mouse-Hal Copland- from a farm outside Mossflower. Oh yeah, and there's also that young lady squirrel that asked to rest for the night. Finally, there's a very strange animal that I've never seen before."

Abbott Varrus glanced at the hedgehog, "What is its name?"

Arly shrugged, "I haven't spoken to him before. He looks like a vermin-type, only 'e's got spots an' stripes on his body. Got a dark face and a tail as long as 'is body."

Varrus was surprised. This was certainly an unusual description; it was strange, something that he had to see for himself.

"Could you request his presence here, Alonzo?"  
Arly blushed, but managed to nod solemnly. He spoiled his pose by taking a deep drink of ale before leaving.

Varrus looked back, listening intently for the bird, but there was no more singing. 'It must have flown off.' He thought.

Slade. Why would someone murder Slade after all these years? Varrus could only fearfully think of one answer. It was a warning to him.

He tried to check himself for fearing that it could resurface after so long. Then he realized that it was useless to forget it any longer. Slade was dead, murdered, and someone meant something by it.

He turned to the sound of footsteps.

Arly had returned, and in front of him was a strange animal.

It matched Arly's description. The creature had the build of a ferret or a weasel, but its tail and limbs were longer. There were stripes on its tail, and large spots on his body had connected together. Smaller spots abounded elsewhere, except his face. It was a darker grey than the rest of the body.

Varrus looked into the face of the creature and felt a very deep shiver down his spine. He then felt an even greater shiver, for he realized how this creature brought back terrible memories.

The creature's face was pointy, like a weasel's, but it was, in so many ways, far more sinister; and the fact that Varrus was sitting in a dark room lit by candles brought no improvement to the blackness and mysteriousness of the golden eyes. However, the most chilling part of the creature's face was the look that said it knew every dark secret you had. Maybe Varrus was just feeling guilty, but he had a feeling that this creature knew him more than the eyes were warning him.

"Who are you, my son?" Varrus asked politely. Looking closer, he saw that this creature was not so young as he had first appeared. The creature was fully-grown, and middle-aged.

The animal was silent for a brief second, before answering in a deep, hugely accented voice, "My name is Adisa, Varrus." He gave a surprising look then; it was a dark smile, but also one with a fondness that he would get when seeing an old friend who doesn't remember him.

Varrus recognized that fondness, "Should I know you, Adisa? I can assure I don't remember seeing your kind before."

"That is indeed a pity, Varrus, for you have seen my kind before. Does the term, 'civet' have any meaning to you at all anymore?" The voice was fluid, musical even. It was almost enchanting, and the strange accent brought an exotic sound to it.

Varrus was silent; that word rang a bell in the old halls of memory.

Arly, however, had not ever heard of the word, "Civet? That's what a creature like you is called?"

Adisa's face snapped to the right as though he had been struck. His eyes gazed at the big and muscular hedgehog, "I am indeed a civet. You of course, may not have heard of such a creature.' He slowly turned back to Varrus, 'But I know for certain that Varrus should know what a civet looks like, let alone is."

Varrus frowned, "Adisa, you are being very unhelpful and secretive. Have you something to hide from us."

Adisa paused, and finally responded, in a very strange tongue. Abbott Varrus blinked, hit with something the sounded oddly familiar; Arly was completely blank. Adisa smiled, and repeated it. This time, Varrus realized that he could understand it. Adisa had said, "No more than what you are hiding from yourself, Varrus."

A very cold dislike of this creature was developing in the old otter, but also a crazy sense that he came from events in his past.

Abbott Varrus stood up, "That will be enough for now, Adisa. Alonzo will show you to your room."

Adisa's smile vanished suddenly as Arly turned to go for the door. It became grim as the darkness, as foreboding as the deepest nightmare.

He snarled in the language. He said a lot in the shortest time, it seemed to a frozen Varrus. He understood it all, and it made him want to tear his ears out if could reverse what he had heard. It all brought out the past that Varrus had desperately tried to hide for so long.

Then time resumed as normal, and Adisa followed Arly to his chamber.

Varrus collapsed on the chair beside his bed. He felt his paws shaking. His past, furious at all the years it spent in the most shadowy corners of Varrus' mind, had come to the surface.

With this dark messenger proclaiming it.

"" "" "" "" "" ""

He woke up the next morning, feeling slightly refreshed from his fears. Adisa was locked away in a chamber, unable to bother him, or anyone.

Varrus went down to breakfast, eating toast and sipping new milk. The abbey of Redwall had awoken, and the new day was starting off as usual. Mother Sara was kept busy cleaning Dibbun faces messed up by berry juice and porridge. Foremole was deep in mole-speech conversation with his crew. Brother Gores was writing an entry upstairs, and would doubtless return to breakfast before the food got cold.

Varrus suddenly felt emotional, looking at Redwall's inhabitants, so happy, so good-hearted. He thought of Adisa; he was going to disrupt it all with treacherous knowledge.

Suddenly, one of the little Dibbuns-Jul, Varrus thought he was named- knocked over his cup of milk, making a mess. Immediately, someone began cleaning it up, and the conversations and activities resumed.

Varrus felt his emotion sink into melancholy. Why did all this have to happen? He had been so happy, everyone had been happy. It had all started when Judos' father had been found…

Varrus shuddered, and almost instinctively fell into a conversation with Brother Dreyfuss, the abbey's fishermouse and administrator of the Abbey Pond.

As breakfast progressed, many began to go about their duties of the day. Varrus was about to get up and leave, when Sister Val, the Abbey healer, confronted him.

"Father Abbott, I have finished the autopsy you requested from Slade."

Varrus stiffened, "So what are the results?"

Val shuddered, and her expression became sick, "It appears that someone took a dagger, slid it down his throat, until he had almost swallowed it. His spine was broken too, and it looks like there is a bite across the back of his neck." She gave a half-sob, half-choke, as if holding back vomit.

Abbott Varrus was stunned, if not mortified by the cruel way Slade had been killed. What animal had done this?


	4. Chapter 4

3

Judos fumed in the prison: he had already stated to Marros that they were going to find a way to escape.

Back when he was a troublemaking Dibbun with Mellor (Judos always winced when he thought of his friend) they had agreed that there could not possibly be a more vexing or irritating place than Redwall. He could never have been more wrong in his life.

The prison was a living hell; creatures were starved so to save food for the hordebeasts and their families. No fire was permitted in the prison, and they were to make as little movement or speech as possible. Even the slightest cough could be punished, if Klinus was in a bad enough mood.

Klinus. Judos had gotten the name from a guard. Klinus was a fierce bully who loved nothing more than violence on a beast when they were down. He took his orders from Oorlog; another kind of creature like him no doubt.

Yet, Judos was lucky in two people. One was Marros; despite the shrew's faults, he was a good person, and was as cunning as Mellor had been. Together, they could plan their own escape.

The other person was Ætharr. The Calador weasel was very unique; he doubted that he'd ever meet another vermin like him again. Ætharr was everything that vermin supposedly weren't. Foresighted, smart, loyal, brave, and honourable. It was a big shock to his upbringing.

Ætharr was very interesting too. Judos loved nothing more than to sit in a corner of the cage and listen to him talk. Oh, how Ætharr would speak! Such stories of this place called Calador, full of good creatures like himself. Judos could scarce believe that one weasel, let alone a whole tribe, could be a completely decent person. He would listen as the weasel described his childhood, his cousin Ædall, his friends, and what Calador was like.

"Tell me about your father and mother." Judos asked one night.

Ætharr suddenly went cold as ice. He glared at the weasel in a sort of way that demanded the subject to be dropped.

Judos held up his paws, "Sorry. It's just that my mother died when I was an infant, and I never knew my father until…' he felt his voice go weak at the memory, '… until I saw his dying form in the forest."

Ætharr suddenly softened. His eyes looked very soulful, "You never knew your parents?"

Judos felt incredibly melancholic thinking of it, "No."

Ætharr pursed his lips, and breathed out exasperatedly, looking hurt deeply by this news. He leaned back and stared up into the starry night. He looked very young in that pose.

"My mother disappeared scarce after I was born. I didn't know her, but it never seemed to matter, seeing as I had my father.' -Ætharr choked something back in throat, maybe a sob, - 'my father was the greatest warrior in Calador; I always liked to say that. He taught me so much, and would have taught me so much more if…'- he sniffed, - 'One day we were going to raid the Millars. A pack of thieving bastards, they all are! Anyway, when we were about to cross the border, we were ambushed. We had no chance; there were scores of them! They filled the sky with arrows and darts. They killed my father…" -He closed his eyes, before speaking up again, -"I sometimes wish all this hadn't happened, and then it could be like before, when my father was still Ealdor…" He broke off.

Judos felt hot tears running down his cheeks as he spoke again, "I wish that I could do some things differently too. I just want to have a father, you know? I always wanted something like that. And now I'm all alone here, in this horrible place…" He let a sob out, and sat down beside Ætharr. He knew he was crying like a baby, but he didn't care anymore. It was too much to bear.

A limb went over his shoulder. It was Ætharr. He was staring at the stars again, looking sadder than ever. Still sobbing, otter put a limb over the weasel beside him and wept. He didn't feel so alone now.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

A single tear went down Ætharr's face. He let it go; he felt bitter, and grief-stricken as he thought of all that he had lost.

Judos was a comfort, though. In many ways, he was like Ædall; someone he could talk to. There were hardly any people he could talk to; Ædall, Judos, maybe Horal and Jinn, but that was almost it.

He listened to Judos' weeping, and felt sad, but in a way, he felt happy to have met this otter. There was something about him; he was destined for something glorious, no doubt about it. They could make a great team together, but deeper than that; they understood each other, even if it was in only a few ways. This was just the beginning.

He stared at the stars. Somewhere up there, his father was in the Great Hall of warriors. There would be many great feasts, battles, and brawls up in the Great Hall. All the greatest warriors would be there, those who had died with swords in hand, who had been the hardiest of fighters, and who had fought with the joy of war upon them.

Judos had fallen asleep. He snored gently, his head bowing in front of him. He was very bitter, sometimes snapping at even that shrew friend of his. Ætharr recognized some of that bitterness within himself.

Ætharr suddenly felt the weariness of the day hit him, and he slid into a lying position.

He glanced at the guards. They had fallen asleep, leaning on one another like in a comic theatre performance.

Ætharr looked at the keyhole in the cage door. It was an extremely ancient lock, half-rusted and brown. It was a miracle that it could still be used.

The more he looked at it, the more he wondered if he could use it as their escape route.

His weary eyes fell upon the key slung in the taller guard's belt. It was a peculiar design, with three teeth about a centimetre from each other. Each looked like a perfect triangle. The young weasel wondered if there was anyone in the compound who was good with mathematics. His skills were rudimentary, far unable to solve this on his own.

'If this could be solved… we'd be out of here…' Ætharr's last thought couldn't be finished for he was finally overcome with sleep.

The next day, he spent all morning thinking of it. He dared not raise the subject with anyone now, for mealtimes and labour were the times with the most guards, and they were always most alert at this time.

The Hunan gave the prisoners revolting food. A bruised apple and a crust of maggoty bread in the morning. Then they were sent out in fives to work on building, cleaning, or serving.

This morning, the lots drawn resulted in Ætharr being the first choice. Oorlog had been watching the lots being drawn, and the Ealdor in Exile had a good idea that the lots were rigged.

The others were a young vixen, two hedgehogs, and an old mole.

Ætharr, having been chosen first, was able to see who was being picked. Some had been in prison for a long time. Their faces were sunken; their eyes were dull and grim. Ætharr saw quickly that within them there was little hope or ambition left.

The five of them were herded towards a half-finished building of stone and wood. Ætharr found himself in the middle of a construction with no idea what to do.

Something suddenly hit him on the back. An oversized, strong-built rat was swinging a heavily coiled whip at the creatures.

_Crack! Crack!_

"C'mon ya lazy whoresons! Jump to it!" the rat shrieked out in a cruel voice. He swung his whip blindly towards the group, not caring who he hit.

Ætharr was hit three times in almost the same place. It hurt doubly, because those blows gravely injured his warrior's pride and Ealdor status. He was meant to believe that he was nothing but a miserable piece of dirt.

It was then that he saw a creature muzzled, and tied to a post like a monster. When Ætharr looked closer, he saw that the creature was a weasel, and a female at that.

The weasel astounded him.

She had a look of Calador build on her, but she was still a bit smaller than Ætharr. In truth, this female weasel was, Ætharr realised, very attractive. However, it was her eyes he was surprised by. They were blazing, but maybe it was because she was staring at the Hunan guards.

He felt attracted to her, and for him it was a surprise. It had never been something he had felt for anyone else. He remembered what his old teacher, Tran, and his theigns Ferric and Aletorix had said to him about needing an heir.

'Well,' Ætharr thought, 'I think I've found someone.'

It was true. The she-weasel was strong, but also beautiful. However, looks weren't everything, and Ætharr had to speak to her.

He glanced at the guards, and back to his fellow workers.

He leaned over by the fox, and whispered, "Cover me."

The vixen, whose name was Iola, nodded with a grin, passing the message on to the others.

Ætharr went to the rat, bowing humbly, "Restroom break, sir?" In a normal situation, he would have contemplated cutting his throat for saying those words, but he had an important enough reason for this.

The rat smirked and kicked him away, "Make sure that you don't miss the ground!"

Ignoring the laughs from the rat, Ætharr ambled over to the guards by the female weasel. The levelled spears suspiciously, "What are you doin' here, worm?"

The Ealdor in Exile developed a broken, humble face, "Lords, the slaver sent me to fetch you." The she-weasel was staring at him curiously.

The guards were two dull-witted stoats, and glanced questioningly at the weasel, "Why does Frogtail want us?"

Ætharr bowed slightly, "Masters, I am but a slave. What does he tell me?"

The guards couldn't argue with that kind of logic. They headed off, but the taller of the stoats couldn't resist a kick in Ætharr's ribs.

The young Calador weasel's eyes smouldered as he stared at the stoat's retreating back, "Whoreson' He snarled with pure venom, clutching his rib, 'You'll never kick a creature again when I'm done with you!"

He heard muffled noise. He turned and looked at the weasel. She was bound and gagged tightly. In a way, she was fragile and helpless, but in another way she was as tough as Ætharr himself. She had a warrior's eye, and it only attracted him to her even more.

He leaned over to her, and whispered in her ear, "My name is Ætharr, Rightful Ealdor of Calador. I was captured yesterday by these bastards, and I'm plotting with some new friends to get out and burn this place down.' The she-weasel's eyes glowed at the thought, 'I want to get you out of here, but now's not the time. I'll come back later to tell you more. It'll be an otter named Judos, a shrew named Marros, or me. You can trust them: they're able beasts. Do you understand?"

She nodded her head, trying to speak through her gag, which was a leather strap tied to keep a wad of cloth in her mouth.

Ætharr considered taking the gag out of her mouth, but thought that the guards would soon be back. Seeing this she-weasel in such discomfort, however, made him decide to take the risk.

Working fast, he untied the leather, and saw it was leaving a welt on her.

Spitting out the wad into Ætharr's paw, she spoke as rapidly as he had. She had a lilting, captivating accent;

"I'm Rosheen of the Falcarragh. I've been here for a fortnight. Oorlog had tried to break me, but I fought back, so he sent me here to be broken by Klinus.' She licked parched lips, 'I've been watching the guards change their shifts. I can tell you everything later on.' She looked at him again, 'If it's possible, could you bring a drink of water?"

At this point, Ætharr would carry the last drop of water on earth through Oorlog's entire army to give it to her. He considered saying so to her, but then he saw the guards coming back.

He nodded with a smile, and then, with a sad and apologetic shrug, he stuffed the wad back into her mouth, and tied the leather back in place. He gave a last pat on her shoulder before running to hide among the houses.

He doubled back, and headed off to the construction site- only to be seized by the rat called Frogtail. He was livid, "You little piece of bird droppings! I ought to slay you right here and now!"

Ætharr spat, "Do it then, fat lard. Do it! And then you can boast that you slew Ætharr of Calador!"

Frogtail paused, remembering Klinus and Oorlog's specific orders, but he was a clever creature, and he leered at the Ealdor in Exile, "You'd be surprised at what a creature could live through."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

"Ninety-seven!"

Frogtail's hideously designed whip whistled through the air, foreseeing the damage it would do.

With a loud crack muffled by a sound of flesh being hit, it struck Ætharr on the back.

Ætharr ground his teeth with the whiplash, trying not to think of the burning, painful agony that was eating up the skin on his back.

The weasel was tied to a wooden cross, his belly cutting into the edges of the wood. His back was bleeding from ninety-seven whip strokes from Frogtail. Every single one of the slaves, prisoners, and servants were all made to watch the spectacle.

Frogtail was enjoying himself immensely. In between strokes, he had to pause so he could let out the laughter. It was a beautiful way, in his view, to add insult to injury. Oorlog and Klinus were watching the event with much amusement.

Ætharr knew that they were watching for any sign of pain or breaking. He knew that his honour was on the line now. If he so much as moaned with pain, then he would have lost forever against these creatures.

Judos and Marros watched from a distance, sickened and enraged by this disgusting display of tortuous punishment. It took all Judos' will power not to take Frogtail by the throat. It would have meant certain death for him. The two hundred soldiers that formed the garrison of Klinus' hold surrounded the slaves and prisoners. The rest of his forces, almost nine hundred strong, were camped on the Hunan border.

Frogtail smiled, swung the whip back, and yelled out, "Ninety-eight!" and slashed it across Ætharr's back.

Ætharr almost screamed in agony, but managed to call out instead, "I'm surprised you know how to count that far!"

There were suppressed giggles, but they were instantly silenced by a glare from Klinus. Judos smiled at the humour, but knew how much pain his friend was in.

Frogtail snarled, and hit Ætharr another fifteen times. Throughout it, there was a flurry of pain searing all across Ætharr's body. Except for his back; that part of his body was just numb with the blood and the constant pain.

Frogtail smiled, and was about to yell out "One hundred fourteen!" when Oorlog, of all people, stopped him.  
Ætharr glared at the polecat as he approached him.

Oorlog took a pinch of salt, and sprinkled it over the weasel's open cuts. Ætharr gave an involuntary flinch with the pain. Oorlog shook his head at the defiance and will power, "I ought to slay you right now. However, I'll choose to let you live. But first, let's seal up those wounds."

Oorlog grabbed a glowing poker, and without warning, dragged it across one long, open wound after another.

Ætharr screamed then. It was too much to bear and it had surprised him and it hurt the most of all. He screamed not only for this new pain, but also for the entire torture. He felt hot tears of shame prick in his eyes. It was because his enemies saw him suffer, that his allies and friends had watched him suffer. But also because Rosheen saw him in his pain. It was a shame fit to kill him.

Finally, Oorlog stuck the poker in a tub of water.

He turned to Frogtail, "Cut him down. I think we're finally beginning to form a crack in this little bastard upstart." He added a slap to Ætharr's freshly burned back.

The young weasel was dragged back to the cage. He was sick with shame, and weak with pain in his back.

He went into the corner facing the gate, and wept uncontrollably. He was alone in the cage, because the Iola was also to be flogged, as were the others in his crew, and all the slaves and prisoners had to see those punishments.

He cuffed irritably at his eyes, only to start more tears in his eyes. Was he breaking down? Was Oorlog getting into him?

A time went by, as Ætharr had never known before. He didn't care: death seemed to be the only reasonable choice in his point of view.

Then he realised that this was exactly what Oorlog wanted! He wanted him to crumble from within, which would make them win even easier than either he or Klinus had thought before.

Ætharr, for the first time since meeting Judos, smiled. He would fool them; make them think that they had him broken and beaten. He would rise against them, and make them suffer greatly.

He felt his back. It was painful to the touch. "So much the better,' Ætharr thought, 'For this injury and insult will remind me of the need for vengeance, and afterwards, it will make me smile at the thought of it all."

And he knew that he would give a huge vengeance to those who dared beat him like a common criminal. For he was Ætharr, the Ealdor in Exile, but the Ealdor nonetheless. It was his duty to Calador to regain and uphold his honour and reputation.

For that was all he had right now to get back: and he would exact a terrible vengeance in the process of reclaiming it.


	5. Chapter 5

4

The Lord Oakfur of Salamandastron stood on a small patch of even ground as he watched the proceedings down below him.

His eldest and most beloved son, Roaveen, was marshalling his Mountain Regiment, for the first time, in front of an official audience. The Regiment had truly taken form since its first days of creation. Roaveen now possessed a lieutenant, an old veteran who had served his father, and a sergeant, an equally old and experienced fighter.

The Mountain Regiment numbered one hundred twenty hares. Most were young leverets, scarce out of childhood, but fifteen of them were hardened veterans of Salamandastron's wars.

Roaveen was proud of them. The veterans were able to fight with anything, but the leverets had also mastered the sling, a much lighter form of the Long Patrol lance, and the effective use of a dagger. These youngsters were climbing the ladder as their age and fitness grew.

He now stood in front of them as they formed three ranks of forty; they hefted well-polished lances, and were dressed in thick grey uniforms emblazoned with Roaveen's symbol of two red stripes and two black ones formed into a thick diamond. A banner also containing such a symbol flew proudly in the wind above them.

Roaveen paced in front of them, "Regiment! Form on right!"

As routinely practiced, the hares of the Mountain Regiment turned on their heels to the right, standing smart to attention.

Roaveen gave the nod to Lt. Krieg. The lieutenant called out, "Regiment! Form on centre and sling!"

Like a singular creature, the Regiment turned back to the centre, the first rank already dropping their lances to load their slings.

Krieg nodded at the targets exactly one hundred wide paces from the Regiment, "First rank, fire!"

The slingstones flew true and hard, hitting the targets squarely.

The Regiment went through the routine five more times. Few stones did not totally miss the targets.

Roaveen nodded to Sergeant Liofe, who bellowed out the next orders like a foghorn, "Regimeeeennnnt! Cease Fiiiiiiiire!' the Regiment stopped and waited for orders.

Sergeant Liofe drew breath, and roared out the next order, "Regimeeeeeeennt! Skirmish Ordeeeeeeerrrr!"

The first rank took their light lances and hefted them so that there was a row of points jutting from the hares. Most of the Regiment did this, but the veterans drew swords, raised axes, and the like.

Oakfur nodded down at his eldest son, and looked solemnly at the Regiment, "You are all admirable soldiers in the making. May the training go unhindered, and may you slay our foes and disturbers of peace by the hundreds!"

The Regiment gave a salute en masse to the aging lord of Salamandastron. Roaveen looked up at his father, proud of his words of praise.

Korari smiled as he saw his brother's face shine with pride. Roaveen had worked hard for this moment, and he had earned it.

Roaveen caught his eye, and nodded. Korari waved to his brother.

They met each other as the audience dispersed and the Regiment went on their routinely exercise. Roaveen nodded curtly at his younger brother, "So?"

Korari had a lot to say, "You've really outdone yourself, Roaveen. The Regiment really has an identity. The whole demonstration was brilliantly organized, too. You've truly welded them into a basic unit."

Roaveen looked back at them and grinned, "Aye. A braver group never lived."

"My lord Roaveen!"

Both badgers turned to see Lilac coming across the sand to them, "There is a council about to begin. Your father requests your presence."

Roaveen nodded, and, remembering his manners, asked, "How is your father's health?" He was referring to Major Jackers, the senior officer second to Colonel Seahawk. The two of them had survived seasons of war and campaigns as comrades.

Lilac smiled, "He's quite chipper, sire. Boasts his age to all of us, wot!"

Roaveen picked up his silken vest and turned impatiently towards his brother, "Oy, Korari. Send a message to Lt. Krieg that the Regiment is free to disperse for today."

Korari nodded, and the brothers went in opposite directions; one went to the mountain, the other towards the Regiment.

Suddenly, halfway across the beach, he checked himself. What was the matter with him? Only a season ago he was in alliance with Thornback _against _Roaveen! What was happening now? Had he completely forgotten his brother? It was obvious that Roaveen and Oakfur had.

He didn't want any more conflict between him and his brother. He lost that way all the time. Besides, he couldn't help but admiring his brother for his success.

He sighed, and went on for the Mountain Regiment. He knew most of them by now, and liked them all. He thought he heard young Leaflock telling a joke, and quickened his pace.

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Lord Ædall of Calador, cousin to the Ealdor, stood on a hill, overlooking a sight he would not soon forget.

The allied armies were on the march. Vireo, Jeri, Calador, and now, Hunan, with Äal's joining in the war against Oorlog.

Like a tide rising, the forces marched in companies, disorderly groups of friends, and it all formed a wave of Ætharr's ambitions.

Ætharr. Ædall would find him, and get him out of Oorlog's clutches. He would go after Oorlog with everything he had. The leaders of the clans listened to him; they acknowledged him as Ætharr's cousin and substitute. He fit Ætharr's description perfectly; they had been born in the same hour, they looked so alike it was scary, and they understood each other very well. There were some differences though; Ætharr was slightly more calculating and practical than Ædall, and was very good at reading people's minds. Not to say that Ædall was incompetent. He was a strong fighter, he knew how to organize an army, and if necessary, he would make an ideal theign.

Now, however, he was the substitute Ealdor, and on him were rested Ætharr's responsibilities.

He looked to Aletorix, Leofir, Ergot, Tran, Ferric, Jinn and Horal, who were standing beside him. Jinn and Horal completed the close-knit group of friends between the two of them, Ætharr, and himself.

Horal was the oldest of the four of them, and a more skilled sword beast never lived. Jinn was the youngest, the most accurate archer, and the sly one. He was at the head of a network of agents and spies among the tribes.

Tran was an old weasel, the former teacher of Ætharr, and was also one of his advisors. Ergot was a stunted cripple, but highly educated and served as Ætharr's scribe.

Aletorix was considered the third most important weasel of rank in the Calador forces, after Ætharr and Ædall. He was an experienced theign, having served Ætharr's father his whole life, as a warrior, advisor, and captain.

Ferric was another such theign though far younger. He was a skilled archer and had been with Ætharr from the start of this chain of events. Leofir had come with Aletorix and led two hundred of his fyrd to the aid of Ætharr.

Ædall and the group hurried to catch up to the leaders in front of the forces.

Ibos was the heir to King Nero of Vireo. Ætharr had gone there first of all the tribes, and had won Nero over. Ibos was now here, along with two of Nero's best captains: the boisterous, fierce grey fox Coldbane, and the cold, ruthless black ferret Blackback.

Äal the polecat was the newest of the lords in this alliance, and he was unique in the fact that he alone of the Hunan nobles was in support of Ætharr. He had brought with him two hundred soldiers, half professionals, half from the levy. Äal had also brought Küchulår, the old polecat captain who had arranged the meeting between Ætharr and Äal.

Blackaxe was the leader of the pine marten clan Jeri. The Jeri tribe had long suffered under Hunan tyranny, and they happily swore alliance and friendship with the Calador tribe. Blackaxe was unique, for he was a giant even among his martens, but he was also an intellectual genius, most valuable for the rebellion.

The combined army marched out. Over hills and across plains, the day was spent in silence but for the rumble of paws, bare or booted. This was a horde, small as it was, but a horde nonetheless. This was all due to Ætharr's vision and creation, but it also followed the laws of fate. And fate's law was that everything was fated, and could not be challenged without serious risk and danger.

The day ended when the forces broke camp under a wide cliff. To the east and south was a lake, fed by a waterfall from the northern cliff. Only the west was open for danger, and the leaders set an appropriate number of guards against it.

Blackaxe also suggested that a guard was set on top of the cliff. Twenty of the nimblest martens scaled the rocky face, until they finally reached the top. Martens were amazing climbers, but even those cliffs could challenge them.

That night, the leaders held a council. Ædall sat in Ætharr's seat, while a local named Dripclaw occupied Ædall's regular seat.

Food was bountiful in the camp, and a large amount of good, juicy meat, fish and bird, was laid before the leaders.

Ædall laid out a group of maps of the Hunan and Jeri border, "From here on, we must consider the ideal position for our double bluff operation." He was referring to the plan of destroying Oorlog in one significant battle.

Ervaring, Blackaxe' top captain, voiced his part, "We need a place of good fortification, yet we must also be able to move fast through it."

Küchulår and Äal, who had received two new seats in the council, listened to the others.

Blackback gazed at the maps, "This could be a good place to fight. They can only come straight at us from the west. If they try the east or the south, they'll either have to swim first, or use boats."

Rojo, the marten lieutenant under Ætharr's command, voiced an opinion, "If there's as many as there's supposed to be, then we'll like as not be overwhelmed from the west, even as they sent reinforcements across the lake. It's far too dangerous, in my opinion."

Ædall and the others thought about what Rojo had said. Finally Küchulår spoke up, "Lord Blackaxe, what is the most powerful fortress close to the Hunan border?"

Blackaxe thought deeply, concerning all aspects, "It would have to be Brocovar. It has always been famous for its contributions in war.' He frowned, 'But it's in Hunan hands. It's been in Hunan hands for two generations."

The old polecat smiled, "Then what we ought to do is take it for ourselves. It'll be a good base until we find our location. We can also get other things done at the same time."

Ædall liked Küchulår more and more, "Exactly! With a strong fortress, we'd be able to recruit soldiers from our land, skirmish with Oorlog and we can free Ætharr."

A pause enveloped over the group. Everyone knew that it was absolutely necessary for Ætharr to be saved. He was the true organizer of this, and without him, there was little that could be done.

Ibos spoke up, "What we should do is get our forces across the lake, and head south towards Brocovar, and fast."

Horal was doubtful, "There's a problem with that. What if we'd just be sealing ourselves up into a trap? Oorlog could take advantage of it all."

Blackback glanced at the weasel, "That's a reason why we need to move fast, and efficiently. We need to hit at him from many different angles at once."

All eyes turned to Ædall. It was his final word for it all, since he was fulfilling Ætharr's role in the council.

He looked at the creatures waiting for his answer, "We will head for Brocovar tomorrow. We'll see what happens from there."

It was decided. The army began to pack up the next morning. For them, it was a common thing by now to sleep somewhere one night, and then move out the next morning.

There was a problem though. They had never used boats, and did not carry any with them. It had not been necessary until now.

The next day, Ædall glanced at Blackaxe, "Any experienced boat beasts among us?"

Blackaxe shook his head, "There's only one settlement of skilled boaters that I know of, and they have never been claimed by any tribe. They're almost a tribe on their own, but they're far too primitive to be called one."

Ædall shrugged, "Where are they?"

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""  
The old stoat was a sorry sight. He had a scraggly beard of greying fur. His hide was patchy, decaying, and filthy in numerous places on his body. However, there was a certain importance about him. Around him stood or sat the three score stoats and ferrets under his leadership. All had the look of sailors on them, even the older females and male children.

Ædall sat with Jinn, Leofir, and fifty of Leofir's fyrd behind him. Also there was Blackaxe, with forty martens. Ibos maintained the main force some distance away.

Ædall wished Ætharr was here. He was the ideal negotiator, easily speaking to a great number of different creatures. He was confidant that he could do well enough.

He looked right into the stoat's eyes, "My name is Ædall of Calador. I represent my cousin, Ætharr as the Rightful Ealdor."

The stoat did not bat an eyelid, and suddenly spoke in a strange tongue. Just when Ædall was about to ask what he was saying, a young female spoke with a heavy accent, "I am Thraxxa, the pesoa idosa of the povos d'água."

"What does that mean?" Blackaxe asked politely.

The female stoat looked incredulously at the marten, "He is the elder of the water people."

Ædall was impressed with the old stoat. He had a very respectable air in him, belying his shabby appearance.

"We would like your assistance in crossing the lake. It is very important to us."

Thraxxa stared at him, the way a chess player looks to his opponent on their move. He spoke again, and raised a paw for the translator.

She glanced at Ædall, "He says that your haste and your values are of little importance to the povos d'água. Why should we interfere with your business?"

Blackaxe spoke before Ædall had a chance to think, "The creatures we are against plan to take control of this region, and you will likely be enslaved or killed."

'And yet that's exactly what Ætharr plans to do.' Ædall thought suddenly. He wanted an empire that rivalled the gods.

Thraxxa gave a long, thoughtful look. Finally, he responded. The translator spoke, "He says that we will help you, but you will have to earn our help."

Ædall spoke up immediately, "We are willing to give you gifts of your choice…"

"Not like that,' the stoat said, irritated at the misapprehension, 'You must perform a task that he demands upon you."

The allies crowded in to hear the demand.


	6. Chapter 6

5

Abbott Varrus, flanked by Arly Punto, Foremole, and Sister Val, went up the stairs to a small room. It was locked securely, with a guard sitting right beside it.

The guard, a tough-looking mole named Mirri, inclined her head to the Abbott and gave him the keys.

Varrus' hands were trembling very slightly as he opened the door. He could have been guarded by anything or anybody, yet he would have shook all the same. This civet was a very dangerous creature, not only for his physical capability, but also for his dark cunning.

Adisa was sitting on a stool. It was the only furniture allowed to him; that, and seven candles at Adisa's own request. Adisa sat, facing three lit candles, as if he was praying. The other candles were unlit, but were lined up.

Adisa looked at the creatures in the doorway, "It is a pity that you did not give me candles coloured appropriately. But I should not be ungrateful, for one is black at least."

Varrus felt a shudder go down his back, as he realized the ritual was familiar to him.

He turned to his guards, "Could I ask you all to wait outside? And close the door." Adisa smiled at that, for he recognized that Varrus was doing it because he did not want anything heard by them for fear that it would concern his past.

The four creatures were puzzled, but obeyed. The door slammed shut, almost proclaiming that what was said in the room would stay in the room.

He spoke up, "Do you know why you are here?"

Adisa ceased smiling, "I do not think words can, or should, be punished with imprisonment and improper candles."

Varrus stared balefully at him, remembering the autopsy of Slade's body, "A creature was brutally murdered in the cellars."

Adisa gave a look of surprise, although it was his own look of surprise, "Murder? Who?"

Varrus was confused, but also sceptical. On the one hand, Adisa truly had no idea, but he could just as easily fake ignorance. The old otter had no doubt of Adisa's ability to conceal.

Varrus spoke again, "I believe you know quite well who was murdered, Adisa."

Adisa looked stung, "Do you believe that it was I? I don't even know who was killed."

Varrus cocked an eyebrow, something that surprised himself, "Does the name Slade open some doors in your mind?" Again he was surprised, this time by the sarcasm in his voice.

Adisa smiled in reminiscence, "Ah. Slade. Now that is a name I know well, and for good reason.' He looked at Varrus, a look of injury on his face, 'I had no quarrel with poor Slade, rest in peace. Why would I kill him anyway?"

Varrus leaned forward, hating himself, "You know exactly why you would kill him."

Adisa gave the same dark look from when they had met in Varrus' room, "And the whispers of the past sound out once again.' He said that with a hellish joy, 'You are finally looking back into the shadows of your youth, Varrus."

He stopped as Varrus struck him. Varrus was shocking himself, but he slapped the civet anyway. It was a strike of desperation, to end this discussion, to once again slam shut the iron chest of the past.

Adisa's face snapped to the side, but his eyes never left Varrus'. He spoke again, "I did not kill Slade, despite your reasoning. But I have a shrewd idea who did." The tone was slightly mocking, and the Abbott did not believe him.

"I should have known that you'd plead to not being guilty. You will remain here in this chamber until you wish to speak about this matter."

That said, Varrus got up to leave. He was about to turn the doorknob, when a voice slithered into his ear from behind, "I'm more than willing to speak with you, Varrus, but you will not listen. Just as you do not listen to yourself."

Varrus shivered, and turned around, "Listen? I have listened to everything you have said to me so far, and because of it, I do not like you or what you represent."

Adisa smiled, took a pipe out of his tunic, lit it with a match, and began to smoke. Varrus recognized the pipe against his will; it did not contain plain tobacco. It was another echo in his past.

Adisa spoke again, his voice almost muffled by smoke, "What do I represent, Varrus? The truth? Or a deception?"

Varrus merely frowned.

The civet spoke again, "I merely say this, Varrus. It is not I who is guilty of Slade, but someone else, and they will kill more if not stopped."

Varrus did not know what to say. What was he to do? Was he to trust the word of a murderer? But on the other hand, was this creature a murderer at all?

Adisa recognized the doubt in Varrus' mind, "I have spoken, and it is all that I will say for now,' he gave a serious look, 'until I have three green and three red candles."

Varrus paused in thought.

"You know quite well why I wish to have those candles,' the civet called, and then half whispered, half called out, '_Ubhuti!" _It was in a very unpleasant tone.

Varrus stiffened, and slammed the door shut behind him as he stormed out of the room.

Arly glanced enquiringly at Varrus, "Somethin' wrong, Abbott?"

"Not now, Arly!" Varrus said hotly. He continued to walk on out of sight.

Sister Val was astounded; "I've never seen him like that before."

Arly was even more shocked, "He's never called me Arly before!"

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Thornback stared at a creature that he could not place with anything he had ever seen before. It had the burly grey body of a badger, but it was smaller and slightly leaner. The limbs were strong, but the paws were small and clawed; almost like a squirrel. The bushy tail was ringed with black and brownish stripes and ended in a point. But it was the face that was the strangest part of all. It was very pointed, even more than the tail. The creature looked like he was wearing a mask, due to the thick black band of fur across its eyes, and the white outline above it. The nose was dark; the ears light grey… all in all, a most strange-looking creature.

Thornback could not help but stare at this animal, wondering what it could possibly be.

The creature looked right back at him, and spoke up, "My name is Benjamin. You can call me Ben." He gave a toothy smile. They seemed to be made like an otter's: sharp, but not just to eat meat.

Thornback found his voice when manners were called for, "I'm Thornback of Sal-' He caught himself, and realised that he had abandoned his home, which prompted him to say 'formerly of Salamandastron."

Ben gave another toothy smile, "Formerly?"

Thornback glanced at him, "Are you not from here?"

The animal shook his head, "No. I came here from home, which was across the sea. I'm a raccoon, by the way. You must be a badger, and your friend is likely a hare." He added, hinting at earlier.

Thornback suddenly felt quite bad because of it, "Sorry about that.' he jerked his head towards Lt. Ebs. 'That's Lieutenant Ebsenor, but you should just call him Ebs."

Ben inclined his head, but was suddenly attacked by the guards. Thornback, too, was beaten over the head for talking, and after one or two blows, they resumed their positions.

Ben looked at Thornback again, but did not talk. Thornback glanced at Ebs.

The old veteran was very smart, and used his ventriloquism to good use.

"Ben, don't talk to me out loud, but tap your foot down for yes, and don't for no. Understand? You too, Thornback?"

Both the raccoon and badger thumped a foot onto the trunk. The rat guards had their backs to the prisoners, and were wrapped in a conversation.

Ebs smiled, "Okay. Ben, how many flippin' guards do they have around us at a usual time?"

Ben thought about it, and thumped his foot down five times.

"How many rotations in a day?"

_Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump._

"In how many hours is the next one?"

_Thump, thump._

"So I'd be thinking that in an hour and a half, or so, the guards won't be so alert, seeing as their shift would almost be over. Am I right?"

_Thump._

"In how many half-hours do they feed us?"

_Thump, thump, thump._

"That settles it. I've got a plan. What we do is…"

An hour and a half was a surprisingly agonizing time to be imprisoned for. Thornback doubted that he would ever feel time move more slowly than that one period of captivity.

The Painted Ones paid almost no heed to the prisoners. They mostly chattered away in their own language, giving quick glances over their shoulders to make sure the prisoners weren't trying to escape. The three of them, however, were quiet and cooperative, so the Painted Ones assumed that they had given up.

The food for the prisoners was brought up to the branch.

Thornback watched as the crude wooden plates exchanged hands, and he hoped these rats would not spoil phase one of the plan.

The guards sidled over to the prisoners and decided that Ebs would be first to eat, since he was the thinnest of them, and the oldest.

Ben stopped himself from laughing out in relief. They had guessed correctly, and the plan would work doubly fast.

The guards seemed relaxed, for the hare had been the only one who had not struggled at all since his capture. And besides, the hare was far past his prime, surely! Two guards went towards the hare with their blades sheathed and the scant rations in their paws.

As soon as they neared him, Ebs used his hind legs to awesome effect, tied as they were. They took the nearest rat right into the abdomen, sending him flying. Before the other rat could respond, the hare side kicked him, but instead of sending him off the branch, he pinioned the rat to the wood. It made a living barrier, but it also became clear to the rats what he was doing.

The blades the Painted Ones carried were never in scabbards, merely thrust into their reed belts. Ebs had his hind legs free in an instant.

This freedom granted, it did not completely help Ebs, for his paws were slung to two stakes secured into the tree branch.

It did not matter in the slightest. Ebs, holding the rat with one leg, kicked the blade out of the belt with his other leg. His paw was cut, but in the face of freedom, nothing would stop them.

The blade whistled through the air, and landed by Ben. He was actually as surprised as the rats, for all of them had underestimated the hare's speed. But the screams sounded as the alarm was raised.

Ben, the knife in his formidable jaws, cut his paws free as fast as he could. The raccoon leapt through the air, and only just in time, for a spear and two arrows thudded into the wood where he had been standing.

Thornback watched Ben. Although a very able tree-climber, the raccoon was not completely built for the acrobatics of a squirrel or a tree rat.

Ben landed on a lower branch; only to have the remaining three guards swing down to confront him. All fingered spears, while Ben was armed with a knife. However, the raccoon was a fighter. Thornback had never noticed that in the time of patience. Ben was an opportunist, but seeing him now, Thornback thought, and would always think, he could fight like a badger on the Bloodwrath if necessary.

Hissing and snarling, Ben bristled his hackles. The rats hesitated, but one quickly started forward to lunge with his razor-sharp spear point. Ben was already moving, ducking the attack, and running the rat through with the dagger.

The rat guards were stunned at the fighting ability of this creature. Then a call sounded from above, the rats all realized the raccoon had been distracting them.

In the midst of the skirmish, Thornback had yanked out an arrow with his teeth, and had cut himself free. Tossing the point to Ebs, he grabbed the spear. He pulled at it desperately, and saw that the rats were swarming in from the leaves and the tree-trunks.

All of a sudden, a great anger in him, so often directed at his family, now turned its hatred on these savage cannibals. He roared a battle cry that he had never thought he would yell, "Come to me, you vermin! Eeeeeuuuulaaaliiiaaaaaaaaa!"

Just as the rage took him, the spear came loose. Thornback stuck it out, impaling a rat on its point. Not even waiting, the young badger cracked another one's skull as he shook the first body off. Behind him, Ebs was using his awesome foot power to send Painted Ones flying.

Ben had fought his way back up to their branch, and was using a primitive-looking scimitar to bloody effect. He would also use his sharp claws to send rats whining with pain.

The three put up a ferocious fight with the Painted Ones, but the rats had indisputable numbers on their side. The friends would soon lag.

They had backed into a triangle; Thornback holding the spear, Ben the scimitar, and Ebs his long dirk.

The rats began to back off, chattering to each other. Thornback gave a withering sigh, "Whew! Glad that's over!" the wrath was losing its control, and he was realizing how tired he was. He looked around at the battle. Dead and dying Painted Ones were either draped on the boughs, or lying mangled on the forest floor. He suddenly realized he had killed many of them.

Suddenly, four-score archers came into view. Ebs bellowed, "Look out, chaps!"

Arrows flew, whistling past leaves and twigs. The friends began running along the branches clumsily, all the while ducking arrows.

Lt. Ebs, so often displaying the amazing ability to bob and weave, was sadly clumsy in the trees, but his tunic helped him blend in.  
Thornback and Ben, their black and white stripes evident, were put heavily under pressure. Strangely, Thornback had an urge to laugh. It was incredible, this epic chase in the trees. He looked at Ben, "Let's get out of here!"

Ben shook his head, "Gotta get something first. This way!"

The three of them took a quick turn, heading for, what became increasingly evident, a building made of wood. It was the centre of the Painted Ones' lair.

Thornback was too out of breath to ask why. He simply followed the raccoon into the building.

Rats shrieked all around them, but were either bowled over by the three friends, or they jumped out of the way.

Ben pointed, "There!"

Thornback looked. Weapons were piled in a corner of the room, right beside a side door. Thornback could see Ebs' bow and arrow bag on top, beside an interesting-looking club.

It was made of a fire-hardened wood. One end was bulging, and was blacker than the rest of the club. Along the handle were a number of short notches, with room for more. The whole club had certain polish to it, as though it had been glazed over with some material as a final and definite protection to the weapon. The badger could tell this was like a weapon of a Badger Lord- well cared for, prided in, and made to last forever.

Ben took the club, looping his right paw in the rope tied around the thinner end of the club. He felt it fondly, running his claws along the notches, and gazing at his weapon.

He looked at Ebs, and at Thornback, "Now let's go." Turning around, he kicked a side-door open with his hind leg.

Rats were swarming them from outside and now the rats inside were coming to attack them.

Thornback and Ben felt the rage come upon them again, and they stood ready, Ben taking on the dozens of rats in the building, Thornback ready to repel the rats. Ebs was already aiming for rats among the trees, and shot deadly accurate shafts.

Ben was defending himself ferociously. He had no armour, but he didn't need it. His cudgel broke limbs, crushed skulls, and pulped torsos. He was a blur at times, spinning behind him, swinging his club like a hero.

Thornback was warding off rats from entering through the door. His spear helped him out a great deal, reaching out to either kill or wound. All the while he heard whistles go past his head, and would then see rats impaled with the lieutenant's arrows.

The rats were stubborn. Pride, and stupidity insisted that they continue to attack these upstarts, but they were in the advantageous position. Had they stayed where they originally were, it would have been an entirely different matter. Now, they were guarded from arrows by their own building, and the three were armed with their choice weapons.

Ben drove the rats inside towards the doors. He growled with the effort of fighting for so long, but the rats were retreating.

Ebs and Thornback had held off the Painted Ones for a long time, and now the rats were mobbing them. Soon, Ebs was forced to stop shooting, and pull out his dirk.

The badger looked at him, "Ebs! We have to get out of here!"

The raccoon heard them. Turning around, he let out a roar. It was almost scary to hear, for it was high-pitched, and sounded quite savage. His mighty club whistled through the air, and thudded into the planks that made the floor. The planks crunched, until a big hole was in the floor.

Ben called out, "In and out, pals!" He jumped through the holes and disappeared.

Thornback thrust his spear and took a rat through the midriff. Ebs called to him, "We're getting out of here, follow Ben!"

Together, they jumped through the hole, landing on a branch. Ben was standing there, waiting for them. He gave a smile, "Let's get outta here for good!"

To the furious shrieks of the Painted Ones, the three friends ran as fast as possible and as far away from the forest as possible.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of running, they stopped. The venerable hare, unique raccoon, and intelligent badger all sat about, gasping for air. It was then that Thornback realized something.

He was still holding the spear taken from the Painted Ones.


	7. Chapter 7

6

Ætharr was very much surprised when the prisoners came back to join him in the cage.

Of course, at first it didn't seem like anything out of the ordinary. Iola and his crew came back sporting savage whippings. It hurt Ætharr a lot, and he imagined that it would hurt them as much.

Judos and Marros quickly came to his side, trying to examine his back, but he refused, preferring to put on a tough face and shrug it off for his own sake. Judos gave him a look that Ædall gave him on the night his father died; it was full of heartbreaking sympathy. Ætharr gave a humourless smile, and took them to the corner of the cage. Purposely, he sat so his back leaned on the bars and was out of sight.

He talked quickly, knowing the guards would soon get back to their stations, "I've discovered a way we can to take the guards by surprise. It would require stealth, and it would require some tools."  
Marros guessed quickly, "You want to either steal the key, or make a copy, right?"

Ædall shook his head, "No, but you're close. The lock is very ancient, and we could either break it, or use some kind of picklock."

Judos spoke up, "That might take a while to do, because these guards all know we're together like peas in a pod, so they'll expect an escape plan."

Marros smiled, "We could bide our time, so that Klinus don't suspect a thing."

Ætharr nodded. Judos looked at him suddenly, "Why were you and your crew whipped? Oorlog would have found a reason."

Ætharr paused, and spoke, "I was talking to a potential ally."

Otter and shrew were puzzled.

The Ealdor in Exile spoke again, "You know that female weasel tied to the two posts?"

Marros shrugged, "I've seen her before. She looks like a real fighter."

Ætharr nodded, "Her name is Rosheen, of the Falcarragh tribe."

Judos frowned, "What about it?"

Ætharr looked at her, "She could give us some valuable information. We're to keep contact with her, and include her in our discussions."

Judos looked at him, bemused, "Is that so?"  
Ætharr smiled, "She's useful. Besides, I spoke with her. Rosheen is a fighter, and we'll need rebellious fighters when we counterattack."

Marros shrugged his agreement, and ambled off.

Judos, however, did not do likewise. He smiled at Ætharr, "It's more than that, isn't it Ætharr?"

Ætharr looked at the otter. Normally, he was sullen, and resentful. It was when he was around the Ealdor in Exile that caused him to lose the harshness of his outer appearance. They were getting to act like best friends.

Ætharr shrugged, "What do you mean?"

Judos rolled his eyes, "Well, I suppose Marros and I don't see it very well, but you certainly would be attracted to Rosheen. She's good- attractive, tough.

Ideal for you, in fact."

Ætharr growled, and Judos went away.

Frogtail strode in, "Alright, worms! Five o' you come with me!"

Judos, two ferret twins, a mole, and Iola were dragged off for work.

Ætharr leaned back, feeling the cage on his scars. Eventually, his fur would grow back to almost completely hide the burns, but they were in plain sight at that present time.

Ætharr turned to Ivor, a resilient mole who had immense strength in his digging claws, "Ivor, I have something to talk to you about."

Ivor shrugged, "Olroight, but et shuddn't be 'ere, zurr Ætharr." Ivor was a calculating mole, a good strong person. Also, he was wary of Ætharr, for vermin were normally all evil. He found it no surprise that ferrets, foxes, and weasels were imprisoned, for it was well known that the vermin fought amongst each other as easily as against moles and otters and hares.

Ætharr and Ivor went into the crowd of the prisoners, so it would not seem obvious that they were conspiring.

The Ealdor in Exile muttered into Ivor's ear, "How good are you at measurements and math?"

Ivor paused warily, and shrugged, "Well, oi b'ain't wurse or better thin th'average mole, zo oi'm quite gudd." It was an inside joke among moles, stating the fact that moles were true architects.

Ætharr let the comment go, "I need your help if we're going to get out of here."

Ivor's ears, if possible, would have pricked up. He hated the imprisonment of the Hunan tyrants, "Ow, zurr? Ow cudd oi get uss'ns out o' here?"

Ætharr smiled, "I've figured that the key lock is ancient. We need something to destroy it: or to unlock it with a replica."

Ivor looked puzzled, "An' wurr do oi fit in this urr plan?"

Ætharr's eyes looked quickly to the corners of his vision, and looked back to the tough mole, "I've looked at the key the guards use, and it has three teeth on one side. The teeth are a centimetre apart from each other."

Ivor looked thoughtful, "Wutt be the distance atwixt the closest hurr tooth an' the hedd o' the key?"

Ætharr paused, and suddenly leaned back, completely stretched in a yawn. In the movement, he used the advantage of his height to look at the guards. The key was in its usual place.

He turned back to the mole, "It's about a centimetre and a half."

Ivor nodded, "An' thurr teeth? Wutt shape be the teeth, zurr?"

The young weasel had memorized all the features of the key in his yawn, "A perfect triangle, each one of them. I don't know the exact measures though."

Ivor looked apprehensive, "Et wudd be mooch eezier furr me to know thurr exact measurements."

Ætharr raised an eyebrow, "Take a look for yourself."

The mole gave a helpless gesture, "Moi oyes b'ain't gudd."

'And yet moles are expert architects,' Ætharr thought, amused at the irony. Fortunately, he had a great deal of discretion, so he said instead, "Well, what do we do?"

Ivor asked, "Ow tall an' ow wide be thurr teeth?"

Ætharr chanced another look, describing as he looked, "I'd say the teeth are about a centimetre tall. And what do you mean by the width?"

"Thurr base o' the teeth."

"Oh, well I'd put it at a half centimetre."

The mole smiled, "Well, that moight be enuff turr make a counterfite, zurr."

Ætharr was puzzled, "What's it supposed to mean?"

Ivor explained, "Et be a matter o' zurrvace area. An' you gets et boi calculaeting thuh baese an' the hoight o' the troiangle. You multiploi the baese an' the hoight, an' thun you devoide thuh rezoolt boi two. Ow thick be the key?"

Ætharr was surprised by the sudden question, but he answered, "I'd say about a quarter centimetre thick."

Ivor patted the weasel with a powerful digging claw, "Oi'll doo the rust, zurr."

The guards threw in the door to the cage suddenly opened and a creature. The prisoners backed away. Ætharr turned to see what was going, and was frozen in shock.

It was Rosheen.

She was beautiful. That was all that Ætharr could use to describe her. She was also defiant. Spitting at the guards, Rosheen got up, and saw that Ætharr was staring at her.

Ætharr did not dare look away, in case it was a dream. He drank in the details of Rosheen; her strong but slender figure, her piercing but warm eyes, her firm jaw, and her sudden surprise at Ætharr's scrutiny.

Rosheen started towards him. Ætharr was suddenly afraid. It was surprising, this fear. It was unlike any fear in the shield wall, or in any kind of fight.

She came in front of him, and stared silently at him. Ætharr could not, dared not, speak and break the moment. It didn't even feel like they were in a cage. All that was gone, and it was only the two of them.

Finally he spoke, "How did you get in here?"

Rosheen smiled (Ætharr's heart skipped a beat) and spoke in her lilting accent, "I tried to strangle one of the guards, and they put me in here."

Ætharr felt a wonderful urge to laugh, and he could not hold it in, "By the gods! You're such a fighter! It's incredible."

Rosheen's mirth suddenly vanished, and was replaced with concern warm enough to melt the icy hell, "What about you? Are you alright?"

Ætharr suddenly winced, and he nodded, embarrassed at the thought of screaming in front of the prisoners and Oorlog, "The scars have stopped hurting, but I still feel horrible sometimes for crying out like that."

Slowly, softly, Rosheen reached for Ætharr's back. Ætharr didn't know what to do, so he simply stood there. Rosheen's paw rested on Ætharr's scars, and it was soft and reassuring. She looked into his eyes, and said with a voice of emotion, "I was furious when they did that to you. You were so brave to even last that long."

Ætharr suddenly glowed with happiness. He smiled at Rosheen, and was about to speak, when the prisoners were fed. He motioned for her to wait, and went to get something. When he returned, he was holding something. He held out his paws to her, and said to her, "I think I owe you this."

Rosheen was puzzled, looked at what was in his paws, and began to laugh.

It was a cup of water.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Ædall stared out at the lake, where a mist was thicker than any mist he had seen before. They were in the middle of a swampy marsh just ten leagues from their campsite. The povos d'agua, as they kept calling themselves, surrounded him along with Blackaxe, Ibos, Coldbane, Äal, and their escorts.

Thraxxa, the leader of the povos d'agua, was pointing at the water. He spoke in his own language, and indicated to the interpreter. She turned her dull eyes towards the group of allies; "You must assist us in the problem of the hermano del tiburón."

Ædall, like the others, were very confused, "Hermano del tiburón?"

Thraxxa took a hunk of almost raw seabird meat, and gave it to a big looking sailor. He hurled it out to the lake, where it floated for some time.

All of a sudden, there was a huge splash, and something silvery shot out, taking the offering in its jaws. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it disappeared.

Ædall was stunned. Ibos was shivering at the thought of being the seabird meat. Blackaxe was merely confused, "What was that?"

Äal had seen such a thing before, "It's a pike. Looks like it's a dominant male and big for its kind."

The interpreter shrugged, "Whatever it is, it has been plaguing us. Our fisher folk have been disappearing rapidly and with few survivors. And even if it does not come, then we catch no fish. They are being depleted, or else they are hiding."

Ædall looked around at the povos d'agua, and took good note of the half-starved look some of them were sporting. It was not a matter of annoyance; their way of life was seriously at risk.

Yet, how to end the threat of the fish? It seemed impossible, for the Vireo and Calador were not swimmers as a whole, and even the exceptional few would not stand a chance in the deep water. Jeri were climbers, not swimmers, and the Hunan were the worst of them all in terms of swimming.

Ædall shrugged helplessly at the other leaders, and indeed, they all thought the same thing.

They returned to camp soon afterwards. Ædall read everyone's mind by calling a council.

Over their supper, an old but vital conversation was being held.

Ibos was concerned over the double bluff, "We need to know where we're going to hold it."

Küchulår had an idea; "We hold them off outside Brocovar. At least, when we take it."

Ervaring, whose father had grown up in Brocovar, shook his head, "The landscape is flat on the east and south sides. It would be asking Oorlog to swarm us. We need a spot that is very helpful."

Jinn glanced at Redjaw, the farmer turned captain who knew most of the Jeri lands by heart, "Well?"  
Redjaw thought deeply, "There could probably be a lot of different sites for this battle. But it has to be so we can predict any move Oorlog makes and can be quick to counter it."

"We have to be able to hem numbers in, and fight in several different places." Blackback added.

"And it would help if moral was hit hard." Horal chipped in.

Suddenly, Rojo spoke in a hushed voice, "Verfluchtes Land!"

Everyone looked at him, many touching either the wooden table, or the iron nails in their superstition. The cursed land, the Ridge of the Dead, Verfluchtes Land. Jinn spoke up with a realization, "Of course. It's perfect. Oorlog was beaten there before, the whole land is supposed to be cursed, and it's a maze of rock and dirt."

Ædall was impressed at the thought, and it went back to when he and Ætharr had fought side by side in the shield wall, where his cousin had taken his third axe off a dead rat, where they'd met Oorlog for the first time…

"We need a map of the Verfluchtes Land and fast' Äal stated, 'At least, if such a map exists."

Redjaw looked bemused, "Who would make a map of that place? It has no value whatsoever, apart from death and war. There have been more battles there than could possibly be counted. All kinds of creatures have died there. No one wants to make a map out of Verfluchtes Land."

Coldbane peered at Jinn, "Don't you 'ave creatures workin' secretly for you? Send a couple into that land and find the ideal battle sight."

Jinn shrugged, "There might not be enough time for that, if you ask my opinion."

"Do it anyway. Remember, we have to defeat a giant fish, take a fortress, and then arrange for the battle. It could take a long time." Blackaxe encouraged.

"You get reports anyway, so just have them deliver the map when they give their summaries." Ædall decreed, and turned to the rest, "I'm sure we all remember the battle plans?"  
All nodded, except Äal and Küchulår, who had arrived late in the war. Äal spoke up, "Ædall, we have not yet been informed, and I must also state that I want to ensure my lands are looked after."

There was silence, until Ædall asked, "Pardon?"  
Äal indicated his captain and champion, "Küchulår will fight at the head of my forces, but I would like to return to my estates and ensure no raids have been committed."

There were mixed reactions. Some, like Coldbane and Ervaring, hissed treachery, while others were simply surprised.

"Do you not want to fight?" Ædall wanted to know.

Äal knew he was being challenged, "If I betray you, then the warriors I've given you are forfeit. I will protect my lands, and who knows? I could get more fighters for you."

Ædall trusted him. The other option was painful to think of, "Very well, Äal. You will protect your people, and they will fight for us."


	8. Chapter 8

7

Thornback stared at the spear. It was well made; the handle had been oiled, and decorated with intricate carvings. The blade was of fine steel, and engraved with a gold illustration. Looking closer, he could see the illustration was of a sea bird.

"Interesting weapon, huh?" Ben called over to him. The raccoon had made a fire, and was now cutting into the handle of his beloved club with the knife taken from the Painted Ones.

Thornback glanced curiously at him, "Why do you carve notches into your club?"

Ben ran his hand across the twelve new notches, and threw the crude knife into the dark brush surrounding them.

He turned to face the badger, "Each notch is one more creature I've killed."

Instinctively, Thornback looked at the notches, counting them, "Forty-four."

The raccoon grimaced, "Aye, forty-four creatures who're paving my road to the Dark Forest, and forty four creatures I'll have to answer for."

Lt. Ebs was stretched out on the ground, counting his arrows, "Humph! Rotten bounders, taking some o' me best shafts, wot wot!" Ben smiled at the hare's humour.

Thornback, however, turned his gaze back to the spear. Blood was still stained red in the glowing fire; blood taken from those he had killed or wounded.

Those he had killed.

The thought sent violent waves of terror and sickness through his body, and he turned quickly, doubled over, and vomited.

Instantly, Ebs was by his side, with Ben leaning in, holding a paw over his nose.

"Alright, lad?" the hare patted his young friend's back encouragingly, "I know it's tough to kill for the firs' time, but lad, those rats would've eaten us all if…"

"I don't care!' Thornback gasped out, 'I've stained my hands with blood. I've sunk down to a killer's level. I suffer from the Bloodwrath. I'm no better than my brother!" he shrieked out his last sentence.

Ben understood quickly what was wrong, and found no words for assistance. He decided to clean his cudgel of the blood on it.

Thornback stared at his back angrily, "That beast is a killer. Listen to how he talks of killing. He wants to regret it, but I saw him back there. He was enjoying himself. I was no better than the rats, no better than him, and no…no better than you!" He stared accusingly at the hare.

Ebs shook his head sadly, knowing Thornback was not in his right mind, "Listen, old bean, it truly hurts when you kill someone, but there comes a time when you have to stand your ground and fight back.' he clapped the badger's shoulder, smiling suddenly, 'An' we fought back, didn't we? Sent em' a taste o' what warriors can fight like!"

Thornback smiled despite himself, and he felt ashamed of what he had said. Looking from hare to raccoon, "I'm sorry. Neither of you are monsters."

Ben shrugged, his striped face thoughtful, "That ain't exactly true. You have a fair point. Myself, I don't like to fight all the time, but when I get in the mood, then it's a contagious high.' He smiled, 'and I gotta tell you, there's few things that give you that high."

Ebs nodded, "It's definitely a way o' putting it, wot. Some creatures can be nice jolly creatures one moment an' ruthless killers the next. In some blinkin' situations they have to be that way."

Thornback knew exactly what the old champion was talking about; he was talking about Salamandastron. He was talking about the military way of life that badgers and hares lived on that western shore where innumerable battlefields marked the sand.

Looking into the hare's eyes, Thornback became intensely curious as to the hare's past.

"You never told me where you came from, or how you know my father."

Lt. Ebs was suddenly expressionless. Ben, ever the curious one and lover of stories, turned his mask-like colours to look at the hare.

Lt. Ebs breathed out a sigh, "Well, s'pose it's high time anyway, eh wot."

Ben and Thornback went to sit down, so it looked like a father telling a story to his young sons.

"Y'see, I didn't come from Salamandastron. I'm from the Highlands."

"Highlands?" Ben wanted to know.

"The mountains in the north. It's the traditional home of the mountain hares." Thornback explained, "Go on Lt."

The old hare curled his moustaches thoughtfully, "Oh- well- yes. So anyhow, there has been a large dispute going on up there for years now. Y'see Ben, ever since the time of King Bucko Bigbones, the mountain hares have ever been the allies of the Badger Lord of Salamandastron. However, as of late, our leader- name o' Taskill- has spoken against the old ways and has strived to break all ties with Salamandastron. O' course, many protested, myself the bally chief among them. However, most of the mountain hares agree with Taskill. We haven't kept in contact with Salamandastron for generations, except for the ceremonies of new Badger Lords, and even then it's been ages since we actually were invited. The biggest argument is that Salamandastron is completely blooming indifferent, wot.

"So it came to a showdown between me an' ole Tassy, wot. Now I'll say this much: that laddie can make a rousing speech when pressed into a corner, and he made a surprising recovery turning the jury to his side. He also mentioned that I didn't have the King's Scroll, so my argument wasn't justified or flippin' valid. To make a long story short, I've been in self-exile for the last seven seasons."

Ben was silent, understanding what was going on in this hare's life. Thornback, however, had a question, "What is this King's Scroll?"

Lt. Ebs laughed dryly, "Deuced odd that you don't learn it in Salamandastron, wot! Well, maybe not. Anyway, so the story goes that Bucko helped Old Lord Brocktree take the mountain from a huge army. The vermin left a number of ships, which Bucko took from so he could take his mountain hares back home. Before they left, Brocktree had a private meeting with Bucko, and the King's Scroll is a parchment that states the pact that the Highlands and Salamandastron would forever be allies. Brocktree was nervous, see, 'cause some o' the vermin escaped, an' he didn't want to go at another such war alone. O' course, he died before anything ever really happened, and the Scroll was forgotten about in the mountain since."

Thornback was intrigued, "So what happened to the Scroll?"

"Oh, well Bucko took it with him, y'see, for he took it very seriously, this pact. He became king o' the mountain hares, created a dynasty, and things seemed to go very well. Then a huge attack happened in his grandson's time, and he duly sent a messenger to Salamandastron, but the messenger was caught and his head returned in a sack. So Bucko's grandson knew that the Scroll had to be protected, so he hid it, casting a lot of bally clues all around it, and he led his forces into battle with a full heart. They won, but Bucko's grandson died, and the Bigbones lineage ended there. The throne went to some other chap, and the Scroll is still hidden to this day."

Ben was curious, "So only Bucko's grandson knew where it was?"

Lt. Ebs nodded, "Hid it himself. No one had a clue as to where to start, for his will said nothing of it. Over the long seasons, hares have gone on bally crusades for it, but they dwindled down to the odd old timer wanting adventure, or the youngster who didn't know better."

Ben snorted, "Allies, indeed! It seems the only ones who truly took the Scroll seriously were the ones who signed it."

Thornback felt sad at the thought of two great friends whose successors were completely unaware of the forging pact they had made.

Suddenly, an idea hit him, and he looked at Lt. Ebs, "We could go to the Highlands! We'll find the King's Scroll, and we can renew the alliance before it's too late."

Lt. Ebs smiled sadly, "I admire your spirit, old lad, but we have no ground to stand on, even if we're going to the Highlands."  
Ben looked at the badger, bemused, "So why do you want this old bond renewed?"  
Thornback was thinking of the prophecy, of the death and destruction predicted. At Salamandastron, fate's warnings and forecasts often turned to be accurate.

"There's going to be a great war someday, and I know it will hit Salamandastron with a fury we haven't seen in a long time. We need to honour the old alliances and band together."

Ebs was looking serious, "Good egg, a war? Well, it wouldn't be the first, but I'll be damned if we don't do our bally part, wot wot."

Thornback suddenly looked at Ben. The raccoon was sitting in the semi-shadows, his club at his side.

Ebs was going on, "We should get going immediately, but the going will be tough, indeed so." He noticed the badger's expression and glanced at Ben.

Ben smiled dryly, but did not move.

Thornback was wondering. It was obvious where he and Ebs were headed, but what of the raccoon? He liked him, and hoped he would come along.

"Listen, Ben. We're going to go to the Highlands, but you need not have any part of it."

The raccoon shrugged, "Depends, Thorn. Depends entirely."

The badger was confused.

Ben's smile faded a bit, "Well, I like you both. Real fighters and pals. But what will joining up with you lead to?"

"Ever the opportunist, eh wot?" Ebs smiled and shook his head.

Thornback suddenly thought of something, "Well Ben, the journey's going to be tough, and it might kill us. Plus, the foes we made have to fight through. And I'm not just talking fighting, but also speeches in a courtroom when we discuss the Scroll. Politics are tough fields."  
Ben was not looking at them, but his eyes began to glow, and an ear pricked up.

"But if you don't want to face that, then you could always go on your own. Who knows? You could settle down and work honestly and steadily. Everything would be a guarantee, and you wouldn't have to worry about your paved road. Forty-four is good enough."

Ben picked up his club, and stood to face the badger.

"That a challenge?" Ben was an opportunist, but also a wild adventurer, and usually one or the other part of thinking would win in different situations.

Thornback smiled, realizing he had baited his new friend, "I'm just saying that an opportunist would consider it. An fighter would love to cut a few more notches, and a friend would not even think to turn back."

Ben's sides of the argument seemed to be completely justified. He looked down to run a fond hand down his notches, and the space for many more.

He looked up with a serious look in his eye, "Then I'm your ally."

Ebs was astonished that the young badger had cleverly and subtly won over the raccoon, and welcomed Ben heartily, "It's going to be a tough road, but the three of us could manage."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

While Thornback befriended a new companion, his brothers continued to dwell in the mountain that Thornback was campaigning for.

Roaveen was enjoying his newly gained status. Oakfur had put him to a privilege equal to none, and only below the Badger Lord. 'Well, I've always had that' he thought snobbishly, 'Now it's just official.'

He looked to where the Mountain Regiment was drilling. He had allowed thirty more leverets to join the ranks, and they were easy to pick out. They were over to the side with Sergeant Liofe. He was the ideal sergeant, and he always worked hard for the Regiment.

He looked at some of the others. Some the older leverets were starting to move towards archery. Although their bows were pitifully small, they would get better with practice. Some archers trained their whole lives to master the longbow anyway.

He picked up his sword and went to where the veterans were mock duelling. His sword was truly inspiring: Oakfur's father had forged it many seasons before for his son. Now it was passed down again. The hilt was of a hard iron, covered with black leather. The pommel was an emerald melded into a perfect sphere- it had taken a long and careful procedure to get it right. The blade was slightly curved, and shone in the sun like a beacon on a moonless night.

Lieutenant Krieg was supervising the veterans, and saluted as Roaveen approached.

Roaveen nodded impatiently, "You don't mind if I join in?"

Krieg was a bit surprised at being asked, and shook his head, "If it was up to me sah, I don't mind, wot."

Roaveen partnered up and the two began to fight.

The badger sized up his opponent. He was gnarled from hard battling, and he was much older than Roaveen, but he was still strong, fit, and agile.

The veteran wielded a long sabre. He swung from the left in a downward spiral. Roaveen smiled inwardly, stepped back, and jabbed for the midriff.

The hare jumped back, and the two rushed forward again, blades cutting notches into each other as the two fought furiously.

Roaveen judged the situation. He had size and strength on his side, but the hare had experience and agility on his. The badger decided he needed to eliminate his opponent's upper hand.

He drove forward, hoping to make it impossible for his opponent to weave or dodge. He made several heavy stabs for the hare's heart.

The hare quickly moved back, beating back the sword. Roaveen smiled, and delivered his trump card. Quickly he feinted a step to the left. Just as the hare swung his sword to match the blow, the badger swung the other way, until the blade was a fraction from the hare's neck.

Roaveen laughed his triumph, and thumped the hare on the back, "Excellent work! That was brilliant fighting!"

The hare nodded with a formal salute, "Aye, lord."

Korari came out of nowhere, clapping, "Roaveen, that was incredible. You too, Angriff."

Roaveen looked up suddenly in astonishment. Angriff smiled, and saluted again, this time for Oakfur's youngest son.

Korari tossed a fresh apple to Angriff, "How are you?"

Angriff smiled a toothy smile that missed half his teeth, "I'd be doing bally better if you'd got me a swig o' Mountain ale instead o' this bally apple, wot!"

Korari smiled, and turned to his brother, "Here, I've got one for you too Roaveen."

Roaveen nodded slowly, and recovered, "Oh, yeah sure. Thanks, Kor."

Korari went on to where two other hares were duelling. Suddenly, Roaveen was curious. He strained his ears to hear his brother's greeting.

"Oy! Riboe, Julean! Who's winning this time?"

He heard the two hares respond enthusiastically, but he wasn't listening to what they said. He had not known their names. He had not even known his opponent's name.

How did Korari know their names?

Korari sometimes helped, but not nearly long enough, or so he had thought, to know all the hares under his command.

Suddenly he felt out of touch.

'Nonsense!' he thought bitterly, and he swung his new sword all the more dangerously as he practiced.


	9. Chapter 9

8

Jinn was livid. His face was pale, and his jaw clenched so hard that his teeth hurt. He didn't care: he was a terrifying sight to the hooded weasel in front of him.

The reports had been duly handed in from all the agents. Also, the urgent and special delivery was included.

Jinn was not interested in the least in any concern over the special delivery. He was staring at the words in front of him. It was from one of the agents stationed in Calador.

Quickly, he looked at the other reports from the Calador stations. The same basic news, and some special details that made it all worse.

Seeing this made Jinn almost scream in his rage. Struggling, he composed himself. Turning to the young agent he spoke curtly, "Good work. I'll wait on the next batch of news. Remember though; I want any important news on this subject given to me _immediately_."

The weasel nodded and disappeared into the night.

Jinn turned round and pounded on the cliff face in his frustration and fury. Slowly, the blinding anger subsided, and Jinn remembered what he had to do.

Taking his horn from his belt, he blew it loudly. Between Ætharr, Ædall, Jinn, and Horal, who all had identical horns, it was an alarm that only the four of them would recognize. The horns were uniquely designed, outlined with silver, and ensured a higher pitched sound than most Calador horns.

As he anticipated, Ædall and Horal came bolting up, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, but with sword and axe in hand. Behind them came the other chieftains.

"What is it?" Ædall asked urgently.  
Seeing his friends and knowing their reactions, Jinn felt even more grimmer than before, "Bad news. Very bad. We need to talk immediately. Organize the Caladors, and the other chiefs if you want."

The major event that had started the whole campaign was the assassination of Ætharr's father Ællear, and the usurpation of Ædall's father Ælfer, who was Ætharr's uncle. He had arranged his brother's death at the hands of the Millar tribe, and allowed them to run loose. Since then, they had been fugitives, plotting their return and revenge. The theigns of Calador had always been angry at this insult, and had always said that they would join Ætharr when he returned.

But the events had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.

Jinn faced Ædall, Horal, Aletorix, Ferric, Leofir, Blackaxe, and Coldbane. He took a deep breath, and spoke the grim news out loud.

"There was an attack on Lord Gæruff's lands. Ælfer ordered an attack on him after he executed twenty captured Millars. He was taken by surprise, and there was a battle.' Gæruff had been one of the leaders in the defiance against the usurper, and had even suggested Leofir to go with Aletorix. He was almost more of a warrior/captain than a theign, but he was very shrewd and clever.

Ædall shuddered, and spoke, "Go on."

Jinn looked angry, "The Millars besieged him in his stronghold, and raided his lands. They thought he would lead his garrison to fight, but he kept a level head. Then Ælfer sent a traitor to open a gate. The Millars rushed in, screaming in triumph. The Caladors stood no chance; most of Gæruff's troops had been driven into hiding by the raids, so he only had thirty weasels. Everyone was massacred, except for Gæruff and his soldiers. They were tortured to death. According to one of my informants, Ælfer's Millar allies strung up the remains of their bodies all over Calador."

With every word he spoke, his audience felt more and more angry at the thought.

Ædall, whose father had been behind it all, tried his best to calm himself, "Is there word of any other attacks?"

Jinn nodded, "That same army tried to invade Lord Ulric's land, but Ulric was ready for it. He had a hundred spears ambush them, and he drove them off with a lot of loss on their side. The Millars pulled back to Æthelly, and Ulric gave Gæruff a proper burial. He has also taken Gæruff's old lands, including his old share of the fyrd."

Horal stifled a smile. It was fitting that the strong, capable Ulric would fight back and give Gæruff a cremation with a weapon in hand. The fighter was doubtless brawling and drinking in the Great Hall even now.

Ædall sighed, "What about the other theigns?"

Jinn looked very troubled, "With Ferric, Aletorix, Leofir, and Gæruff either dead or here with us, that leaves Ulric, Æđelstan, Cynefrid, Viggo, Keld, and Eadwig. Keld, Eadwig and Æđelstan are getting wary of the fact that Ætharr has not come back, and they wonder if Ælfer will not be defeated. The rest scorn Ælfer and are ready to support us to the death."

Blackaxe nodded, and Coldbane thumped his spear on the ground.

Ædall shrugged, "We must remember all this, but first, we go to kill the pike.

Today they would go out in rafts and boats to try and spear the fish in order to get the loyalty and the boating skills of the povos d'agua.

The plan was arranged, the boats had been built, and the volunteers were eagerly anticipating a huge meal out of the underwater menace.

Deep down, Ædall felt that it was futile. The rafts would be very poorly steered, and the pike could easily, and literally, blow them out of the water. He had tried to dissuade the others during the counsel, but in the end even he had known that there was no other choice.

They set out. In all, there were forty vermin from each tribe, twenty to a boat. For the leaders, it was Coldbane and Blackback for Vireo, Ferric and Leofir for Calador, Blackaxe and Ervaring for the Jeri, Küchulår and his brother Kazahley for the Hunan.

Most of the other chiefs were on the shore, watching for the victory or the defeat.

On the boats, some were silent and others were cheering. Ferric would never admit it, but he was terrified. He didn't know about the others, but he later swore that a few of his crewbeasts were shaking.

They plunged forward in the water, the rafts taking water. The allies had chosen so that there was no wind, only calm water and a sunny day. Every one of them would have drowned otherwise.

The pike was nowhere to be seen. The plan was simple; the pike would be baited, surrounded, and speared.

Blackaxe held the bait, a roasted bird specially made to smell and taste strongly. He looked to the other boats to make sure they were ready, and stood up to throw it.

Everyone was silent now. All were watching the huge marten prepare to throw the bird.

Blackaxe gave a deep breath, and the bird flew out of his hands as he swung his body.

Time stopped as all present, whether in little rafts, or on the shoreline, watched the bait make a seemingly endless trip into the water.

Then it hit the water. A little splash; no sign of the pike. Now was the time, and it would only come once.

"Row! Row!" The boats sailed to form a semicircle around the bird. Nothing happened during the clumsy process.

The bird floated half-in half-out of the water. It caused delicate little ripples in the water, but apart from that the lake was like glass.

Nerves were strained as they stared at the bird floating in the water. The climax refused to come.

On the shore, Ædall held his breath, with Horal beside him. The spectators were afraid to even move a muscle.

Back on the water, paws shook with the strain and the wait. The pike was not coming, and the bait floated in the water, mocking the time.

Finally, Leofir could not stand it. Banging on his raft with a makeshift harpoon, he bellowed out, "In the name of hell gates, GET THE F UP HERE!!!!"

All stared in shock. Then out of a few, then many more, a chuckle started. Leofir was frozen for a moment, and then he began to laugh. Soon, most of the creatures present were roaring with laughter. They failed to notice a dark shape begin to rise, until…

CRASH! As if responding to Leofir's call, the pike erupted out of the water just under Leofir's raft. It reached for the bait.

The raft stood no chance. It's remnants, along with its crew, flew through the air. Leofir, who had been hit with the pike's tail, toppled senseless into the water, sinking forever from the view of his comrades.  
The boaters were taken by surprise. Blackback responded first, "Attack!" he shrieked the order as he hurled a javelin at the pike. The short point buried into the tough hide, but the handle broke off.

It was a signal for chaos. Arrows, spears, and throwing hatchets whistled through the air. However, the pike had tougher skin than they had thought. Many of the missiles rebounded.

The boats were in disarray, completely concerned in themselves only. Ferric steered his crew carefully, so that they had a good shooting point at the pike's eyes.

Ferric bellowed at his friend Coldbane, "Aim for the eyes!"

The grey fox grinned, and notched an arrow on his bow. Taking careful aim, he loosed the shaft.

If the pike had not turned, Coldbane would have sent a perfect arrow into the eye of the monster, and likely into its brain. However, the pike made a sudden twist into the water, and Coldbane's shaft shot in dead line with the pike's head and slashed the eye. The shaft continued into the water, but the damage had been done. The pike's eye had been blinded instantly.

The pike gave an unearthly cry of pain and anger. It turned on the direction of the arrow.

Coldbane, who had been laughing earlier at his success, now paled at the sight of the monster coming down on his boat. The others drew away as fast as he could.

Ferric called out to work together, but the trap was destroyed. The worst they had inflicted was blind one eye, and as a result, make it angry.

There was a sickening crash as the pike's head hit the raft. Creatures screamed their dying screams as they either jumped overboard, or were picked up in the huge jaws.

The last left was Coldbane. He clutched his spear, frozen to the spot.

The pike bit his leg. The fox came alive then, and screamed out loud in pain. The pike drew back, the leg in its jaws.

Coldbane went pale as he stared with panicking eyes, at his bleeding stump. He let out an unearthly death wail. But he had no chance to scream again, for the pike bit again.

Ferric turned and vomited. The pike had taken Coldbane's head clean off his shoulders. The body thrashed briefly, and it fell limply, to be dragged down to the deep hell of the pike's new domain.

The remaining crews were stunned. First it had been Leofir, drowned, and then Coldbane who had been eaten bit by bit by the pike.

The Vireos and Caladors had been especially subdued, for Leofir would not have a sword in hand, and Coldbane would never reach the Vireo's afterlife.

Ferric began to weep. In the time he had known Coldbane, he had grown to love the boisterous fox's humour and easygoing nature. The fox had also been a fighter, and had been loved by his troops.

Leofir had also been a fighter. The main tragedy was that he had been young, and had had a great potential.

The boats drifted sadly in the water, no one wanting to speak. It was then that everyone noticed the deepest insult of all to the whole expedition.

The roasted bird still floated there, only now littler fish were picking it at, eating, as they had never eaten…

Nightfall was grim, for fires were burned in the memory of those who had died. Two whole boat crews either eaten or drowned. Ædall was through weeping. He was beginning to think it would all unravel.

First the theigns were hit with a brutal attack, now they had lost two very able leaders.

Only one good thing had come out of it. The map of the Ridge of the Dead was very beautifully detailed and drawn. Ædall had no doubt that they could choose their battlefield for victory. He just wished the price for victory wasn't so high.

Ædall sighed, and knew Ætharr had to be rescued, or else all would fail.


	10. Chapter 10

9

Adisa looked into the dark room, lit very meagrely by seven candles in front of him. The room was entirely quiet, the darkness and silence going together like companions.

Adisa far from feared the lack of light, he loved it, and the sound of silence was no more nerve-racking. He felt in his heart that he had lived in the darkness for much of his life.

However, the civet felt sad. He was imprisoned in an abbey supposedly open to strangers. The purpose of his visit made little difference in his judgement: why did these creatures blindly follow Varrus, of all people?

His eyes darkened, and he lit a match. Taking a substance from a little bag, he trickled it into the pipe, and he drew it in. At once he felt its powers affect his mind, and he looked at the little light. His head felt light, and his eyesight became very murky. Black became pink, and red, then green. The civet sighed, and felt the happiness hit him. He knew that it was not his own happiness, but it felt incredibly good in the darkness. Chanting sounded in his ears, and he sang aloud to them, revelling that it was in the language of his people. The feeling was so good, it was addictive. Adisa did not care; it was too good to give up. He felt slumber take him, and he embraced it.

He woke up to his candles almost completely gone. The darkness had deepened, which made Adisa realize it was approaching dusk, if he was correct.

A headache raged in his skull. He groaned at the headache, and blew out his candles so he could sleep off the after-effects.

All of a sudden, the door opened, and light flooded the room. Adisa turned, caught off guard, but hastily throwing up defence.

It was the hedgehog that Varrus had called Alonzo. The burly creature with the strange accent and the drinking habits. He had walked in carrying a platter with food on it. Adisa's eyes flicked up into those of Alonzo. The hedgehog had a look of immense wariness, but also great curiosity.

Adisa inwardly relaxed. If it had been Varrus again, it would have given Varrus much pleasure to create suspicion and fear in his heart, but this was not Varrus. Adisa liked to say he felt no hate toward any creature but a few creatures from his life.

Alonzo stood some distance away, "Well, here's yer grub." He said curtly and held out the platter. His eyes had much suspicion aimed at the strange creature in front of him.

Adisa paused, fascinated in this reaction of instant hate towards the unknown. He wondered if Varrus had said anything, but decided not. He had seen that look before, in much more different circumstances.

Making a start for the food, he saw the big hedgehog flinch and quickly put a ready paw on his dagger. If this had been done when Adisa was younger, this would have angered him to the point of attacking the hedgehog. However, time and experience had given him a new outlook on life. Except with a few exceptions, he was very patient and refrained to use hate or anger. He decided to try something on this hedgehog.

He went slower, and gave an inclination of his head, "Sawubona, Alonzo Hedgehog."

Alonzo's face went completely blank, taken aback by the seemingly good nature. He paused for a moment, and asked with a voice full of curiosity, "What does that mean?"

Adisa smiled, "In my language, it means good day."

The hedgehog nodded slowly, and said, "D'you call me Alonzo because you've only heard Father Abbott call me that?"

Adisa shrugged, "I don't know you very well, but if you wish to be called by another name, I'd like to know."

Alonzo shrugged, "Y'cn call me Arly. Everybody does."

Adisa smiled, and stood up, "Well then, Arly, you may call me Adisa."

Arly shrugged, "Well, anyway I brought you some food."

Adisa nodded his thanks, and looked at the food. There was soft bread, a slice of cheese, roasted shrimp, a bowl of soup, and some sort of desert that was completely unknown to the civet. There was also a full pint of drink.

Arly saw him looking, "The drink is October Ale. I made a new barrel this morning. And that's a pie. It's a favourite meal among the moles aroun' here, know what I'm sayin'? They call it turnip n' tater n' beetroot pie."

Adisa shook his head at the new sort of food, and dipped a spoon into the soup.

Arly stopped the civet, "Hold up there. That's shrimp n' hotroot soup, which is something the otters love to death. It's the food most likely to catch your tongue on fire."

Adisa shrugged, "I am no novice to spice." He took a spoonful, and was amazed at the flavour of this soup. It was almost as spicy as some of his parents'…. He put the thought out of his mind for a moment, and he looked at the hedgehog, "Pardon me if this is blunt, but why have you not waited outside like the other guards have when feeding me? And they do not give me this variety."

Arly paused for a time, unsure of what to say, and finally said, "Look here, Disa. I'm 'ere of my own choice."

Adisa nodded, amused at the hedgehog's nickname for him, asked "Is there something behind this decision?"

Arly thought about it, and a pained look came into his mind, "Something's wrong with Abbott Varrus, and it's 'cause o' you. He's been real strange lately, and he gets worse after seeing you."

Adisa, gleeful at this kind of news, felt sad that this was affecting his new friend in this way. At least, he hoped the hedgehog was his friend.

Arly recovered, shrugging as if to dismiss the fact he had shown real emotion in front of someone he had met.

Adisa spoke, "Varrus is afraid."

Arly looked bemused, "Scared? O' what? Somethin' you got against him or somethin'? He's cleaner that the inside of my Cellar barrels."

Adisa suddenly felt a jolt of anger go down him like a shiver of winter. He wanted to put into the heads of the Abbey what kind of person Abbott Varrus was.

However, the anger passed, "Well, I believe I would like to go to sleep. I must thank you for your time.' he bowed his head respectively, 'I wish much impilontle."

Arly was very puzzled.

Adisa smiled, "It means good health."

Arly grinned wryly, and left.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Thornback had decided to keep the spear. It was too good a weapon to throw away. A master had engraved the beautiful golden seabird into the blade and the gold designs in the dark wood. The more he looked at it, the more he loved it. After an hour of polishing, it looked fabulous, and if it were not so stormy, it would have shone in the sun.

Thornback looked at Ben's club. It was another such weapon: well loved, well cared for, beautiful, and built to last forever.

There was also Ebs' bow. Thornback had not noticed before how carefully designed it was. The bow was of yew, and to preserve the wood, Lt. Ebs had painted it two different colours. There was a deep sable, and a piercing white, swirling in a never-ending spiral along the bow.

It was funny to see, as though they were part of a sect, or a cult. Thornback chuckled to himself as they trekked onward through the forest.

Ebs guided them expertly, but it was clear that he had not used this path in a very long time. It was a return from his self-exile.

The thought suddenly took him to his own self-exile. Would he ever return? He had made it very clear that he would leave the mountain if his father did not cease favouring Roaveen, and he had left. He had left with a determination never to come back, and he had no intention of doing so any time soon. But in his heart, deep down so far that he wouldn't admit it, he missed them all, even Roaveen.

Thornback did not want to think of it any longer, and he looked at the third member of the group, another exile. Ben was striding along, his club ready and looped around his paw. The raccoon seemed so confident of himself, so able to survive… so where did he come from?

He was still thinking that thought, when he heard the low rumble of thunder, and felt a spitting of rain hit him.

The next thing he heard was Ben singing out in a low, haunting voice,

"_Riders on the storm_

_Riders on the storm_

Into this house were born Into this world were thrown Like a dog without a bone 

_An actor out on loan,_

_Riders on the storm…"_

He went on singing, his voice creating a dark atmosphere in which they dwelled. Thornback was mesmerized by the tone, and the fact that he was singing it so appropriately of their own situation.

He interrupted, "Where did you learn that song?"

Ben smiled a reminiscent smile; "I don't own it or anything. I heard it sung by a quartet, they had a name I don't remember, where I used to live. It fits us so well, and I love the song, so I couldn't resist."

It was at that point when Ebs called a halt.

It was a precipice. It was also very deep, ending in a swirling river. Ebs shook his head at this obstacle. Turning around, he walked back into the woods.

Thornback looked at Ben, "Where's he off to?"

"Well, since he planned everything with me beforehand, I'm sure I can tell you." the raccoon said sarcastically. He smiled at his own wit, but then gave a start at what happened then.

Ebs came crashing out of the bush, running as fast as he could. The old hare could still move incredibly quickly. Thornback and Ben only just managed to step out of the hare's way.

The hare did not even pause; his powerful hind legs bent in mid-run, and it seemed as though he flew through the air. He leaped far over the precipice, but landing badly on the other side.

Slowly, he got up, turned round, and grinned ruefully, "Now in the old days, I was much better at landing, wot!"

Ben smiled, and called back, "With me, it's the leaping part I'm in trouble with."

Thornback looked around, he saw a log half-buried in the ground and green with moss. It was also long enough to cross the precipice with.

He loped over to it. Ben, sensing what was on the badger's mind, followed him. They each grabbed one end, and counted to three.

At three, the raccoon and badger lifted. The log had been in soft dirt, and it came out easily enough. It was flimsy though, so they would have to be careful.

Ben looked past the log to where he could see Thornback on the other side; "Let's take it to the edge!"  
This time it was Thornback's turn to be sarcastic, "No, I'd rather stand here all day carrying it."

Once at the edge, they began to turn the log so one end began to reach the other side, where Lt. Ebs was waiting with arms outstretched.

Thornback was strained by it. It was much heavier than he had expected. If it weren't for Ben, who stood next to him, he would have dropped it.

Soon, it was firmly placed on both sides of the precipice.

Ben, the nimbler and lighter of the two, went first. The raccoon scampered across, his club tied to his tail, tension sketched all over his face. The log gave a groan but that was it. Nevertheless, it still caused Ben to quicken his pace, and as soon as he could, he vaulted for the other side. His landing was much better than Ebs', and he landed on his feet.

The hare and raccoon both looked to Thornback, who was very nervous of this log's capability.

His friends shouted encouragement,

"Come on, Thorn!"

"It's the only way to get across, ole chum!"

Taking a deep breath, Thornback threw his spear like a javelin for Ben to catch. He began to run across the log.

Two things came to play in the next events. The log had become slippery from the rain. Ben had managed to pull it off all right, but the bulkier badger lost his footing. He fell flat on his front.

Unfortunately, the log did not hold this new weight, so Thornback, deaf to his friends' calls, toppled senseless into the water.


	11. Chapter 11

10

Ætharr was very determined to break out of his prison. He was very close now; he could almost taste victory. He had the brains with him, and the ability.

He had Judos and Rosheen, behind him every step of the way. Through Judos he had Marros, who was small and quick. He also had Iola, who kept her claws deadly sharp, and was seen pawing the air, as though preparing to fight the enemy.

Ætharr's secret weapon was Ivor, the intelligent mole who would soon deliver him his ticket out of this humiliating prison.

At present, he was lying on the ground, weathering a storm that had come about. He didn't know it, but it had been less than a half-hour since a particular raccoon had sung a haunting parody to the events.

Rosheen lay next to him, the water making her coat look even sleeker than normal. She twitched whenever a raindrop hit her face, but other than that she slumbered on.

Ætharr glanced at Ivor, far in the corner. The mole was hunched over so that no one saw what he was doing. He seemed to be shaping something.

Judos came into his vision, frowning from the rain. He shook himself, spraying everyone around him with water.

Marros was working a shift with four others, and Iola was testing her claws in the center of the compound, so everyone was accounted for.

Ætharr smiled to himself. Oorlog and Klinus had no idea what he was planning. At the moment, Oorlog had gone out to visit his allies, but he would soon be back. Nothing would long stop from watching his foe's anguish.

A heavy weariness fell on him, and he slumped his head so it rested on Rosheen's, and he fell asleep.

He and Rosheen awoke two hours later to a whiplash striking them in turn.

Ætharr awoke to Frogtail's leering face. The rat seemed to look triumphant, "Cozy weasels eh? Cozy weasels plannin' summat for my lord Klinus, eh?"

Ætharr glanced at everyone around him. Iola was being held down by two stoats, a muzzle unable to stop her snarling curses upon the Hunan. Marros had a paw on his shoulder, and a spear to his midriff. Judos was pressed to the bars of the cage, a sword at his throat. Ivor was being chained and leashed. His eyes met Ætharr, and there was fear in them; fear of discovery. All the other prisoners were being held in different manners.

Ætharr raised his eyebrows, and looked away. He turned to when Frogtail was announcing to everyone, "…and do not think that youse can escape from our attention! Youse is scum, and scum does not escape our notice! Now we're takin' a few wid us to see what's been the word between you, and you'll soon see the results!" With a laugh, he walked out.

The guards took five creatures with them; Ivor was the sixth. However, before he was taken away, he shuffled his feet in the direction of his bed, which was merely a straw mat with his name on it.

Whatever he had hidden was there, Ætharr thought. He had to get it before they got the information out of Ivor. Personally, the Ealdor in Exile thought the mole would never bend to their torture, but he had to be certain.

He would not be so stupid as to dig it up right this moment. The guards were waiting for something like that to happen.

The rest of the prisoners were released. Rosheen was looking worried, as were Iola, Judos, and Marros. The rest of the slaves, stunned but indifferent, milled about into little groups, fearfully discussing the fate of those taken away.

Ætharr put a paw on Rosheen's and Judos' backs, and the three of them went into the corner, "Okay, we're in a lot of trouble. We need to find out how they knew it."

Rosheen spoke, her accent making the words seem to flow, "Ivor was being very secret about it. Begging your pardon, but I don't even know what he was doing."

Ætharr nodded, "That's good. We have to keep this a secret. But the problem is that I don't know how long Ivor could stand torture."

Judos spoke up, "So who tipped them off against Ivor?"

Ætharr looked grim, "There's only five of us who had somewhat of an idea of what Ivor was up to. The three of us,' He pointed at the other two of the group, both of whom were on their own, 'Iola, and Marros."

Judos looked at his friend suddenly, "Are you suggesting Marros sold us out?"

Rosheen was equally surprised, but it gave way to a thoughtful expression, "It would make a lot of sense, it would. He's the youngest of us, and he may be at his breaking point. And he was also doing work before they took Ivor."

Marros was certainly looking like he had hit rock bottom. He was leaning against the cage, shuffling his feet and staring at them as though they were the only things to keep him from going insane.

Judos did not want to believe it, but Ætharr's suspicion awoke something in him: Marros seemed to isolate himself from everyone else other than Judos. It was very odd, and suddenly he began to think it was possible.

However, he did not want to throw caution to the winds, "I say we talk to him. You never know, Ætharr; maybe his condition is a coincidence, or an act. Anyone could have said something."

Ætharr glanced at Iola, who was swearing at the guards, "I'll talk to Iola if it makes you happy, Judos.' He looked at Rosheen, 'Could you find out the feeling among everyone else?"

Rosheen smiled at him, "Oh, I'll pick up the state of mind from them. Don't you worry now." Ætharr and Judos believed her.

Judos went over to Marros, "Marros, are you alright?"  
The shrew looked up at him in surprise, "Of course I am." It was a lie; the shrew looked drained, beaten.

Judos felt horrible. What was he to say to him?

He spoke again, "You know Ivor?"

Marros gave a look of utter confusion, "What do you mean by that?"

Judos suddenly felt anger at his incomprehension, "What happened out at the workplace, Marros?"

Marros heard the bite in the otter's voice, "What's it to you? We hauled stone for that new building we've been working on. That was it. I'm not lying to you, Judos." The last comment was to the sudden sceptical look on the otter's face.

Judos spoke again, "Marros, I don't understand you. You isolate from Iola, Rosheen, the other slaves, even Ætharr…"

"So? Just because I don't cuddle up to a weasel like him, I'm a traitor!" Marros was angry now.

Judos was stunned, "What are you saying, shrew?"

Marros threw a look of scathing hatred at where Ætharr was talking to Iola, "I hate that bastard. He's a damn weasel, and just because he's being helpful now won't stop him from being vermin! We've been fighting his kind ever since the beginning of time. I don't trust him one bit, imprisoned or not imprisoned.' He looked at Judos, his expression never wavering, "And I'm starting to distrust you. What is the matter with you? He's the enemy, and you treat him like a brother!"

Judos was angry at the shrew, "He's a good person who's helping us get out of here!"

"It's 'cause of his kind we're here in the bloody first place! It's 'cause of his kind that your hedgehog friend is dead!"

That did it. Judos slapped Marros over the head, and the shrew fell over. He looked completely shocked, and his eyes filled with tears of pain and desperation. Judos didn't care. In a normal situation, he would not even have hit Marros, but imprisonment and the death of Mellor had hardened him.

He looked coldly down at Marros, whom only a short time ago he had admired for his seemingly tough attitude, "I'd say our loyalties lie quite clearly. Goodbye, Marros!" he turned his back on Marros.

He walked towards Ætharr, who had returned from his own interrogation, "I have no doubt Marros sold us out."

Ætharr nodded, "Just as I thought."

Judos indicated towards Rosheen, "Soon as she's finished, what do we do next?"

Ætharr looked at where Ivor usually slept. He would go and find what Ivor had been working on for the last few days.

"" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Night fell more slowly than any other night before in Ætharr's life. He huddled in a corner with Rosheen, waiting with alert senses as to when the guards began to lose themselves to sleep.  
He suddenly became aware of how close he and Rosheen were, wrapped in a tattered blanket. He suddenly felt incredible at the thought: it was an amazingly revitalizing feeling.

Eventually, his thoughts wandered to where, somewhere, Ædall was leading the Caladors in his absence. Ætharr suddenly felt intensely sad as he wondered how it was going with Aletorix and Horal, Jinn and Leofir, Coldbane and Blackback, Ibos and Blackaxe, Rojo and Ædall. What was happening to them?

Eventually, a moon was the only visible light. The darkness was severe, but the slaves slept on.

Ætharr smiled as he lifted his head ever so slightly. The guards were nodding off, and the slaves were asleep. Even Rosheen was asleep; Ætharr felt her soft breathing on the fur of his shoulder. He smiled to himself, and stroked her closed eyelids with a gentle paw. It was at that moment that he remembered his task, and he slowly got up, gently laying Rosheen down on the ground, the blanket as a pillow.

Completely content, Ætharr turned his full attention to the prize under Ivor's bed.

He stepped over a sleeping slave, and walked around another. Most were not moving at all; all the better for him.

He was just thinking that as he saw a smaller creature thrashing in his sleep. With a start, Ætharr realised that it was Marros, whimpering in his sleep.

Anger and hate rose like bile in the young weasel. He had a good mind to put his foot paw to this traitor's throat. However, after a swift but serious struggle with himself, he decided that it was necessary to keep the silence.

The Ealdor in Exile turned to the bed only a few feet from him. There was no one in his way; dropping down low, Ætharr crawled towards it, not wanting anyone to suspect anything. He was filled with an excitement at the thought of Ivor's creation: whatever it was.

He reached it. Almost putting a paw to his mouth to stop himself from hissing in triumph, Ætharr began to slowly and silently dig under the straw mat. There was nothing there, and would suit Ivor to hide it under the earth.

The first few pawfuls of dirt yielded nothing. The young weasel was absolutely unconcerned. He continued to dig, almost tasting the free air outside the stinking cage, and feeling grass under his paws again.

However, after about five minutes of digging, Ætharr was puzzled. Why was it not here? What was wrong?

Finally, when he had dug a hole deep enough to cover two Calador weasels, Ætharr decided to call it quits. Clearly, Ivor had hidden far more cleverly than he had expected.

Grudgingly, the weasel silently complimented the mole for his wisdom, but he added a curse aimed at himself for falling for the obvious location.

The time for thinking caps was at hand, and they had to find the location before Ivor finally submitted to torture.


	12. Chapter 12

11

Korari smiled at the stars in the skies. It had rained a few hours before, so the clear sky made up for it all.

He leaned towards the hare on guard duty standing next to him. It was one of the old veterans in the Mountain Regiment. Korari knew him like he knew most of the creatures in the Mountain Regiment.

"So. It finally turned out nice, didn't it, Ormond?"

Corporal Ormond was so called because one of his eyes was a permanent dark red after a searat landing several seasons before. Ormond was very unique, for he was still entering his prime. Most of the veterans were full-grown, but Ormond had only just ceased growing. His favourite weapon was his falchion, a broadsword that curved like a scimitar.

Ormond tapped his bow on the arrow slit carved in the mountain, "It's a right tiresome duty if there's nothing to look for."

Korari felt a surge of fondness for Ormond, and indeed all the hares of the Mountain Regiment. He was surprised at himself for knowing all their names, but seeing each individual, it was so easy for him to know them. All he had to do was see or hear them, at the least, and he could recognize them.

As Korari was thinking this, he heard a voice, humming an unrecognisable tune.

Turning around, he gave a mock salute, "Ensign Sofa, sir! Permission to stay on guard, Sofa sir!"

The hare sniffed, "If it weren't my Lord's son, I'd situate you to the blippin' dungeons and have you sanitize the terrain level!"

Korari laughed. 'Sofa' was a name he had thought up for Ensign Sophus Sophocles. Sophus was a highly clever individual full of knowledge and intelligence. His high education level caused him to use more elaborate words in his sentences. It was a way he also countered the use of his nickname.

Sophus peered at Ormond, "Ah, Ormond. Your shift is over, you can go."

Ormond shrugged, "Nah. You'd be as bally bored as me if I left."

Korari grinned at the two of them. Ever since leverets, they were the best of friends. They would torment each other ruthlessly one minute, and then order a cup of Mountain Ale together. Sophus and Ormond were also comrades in arms.

Korari looked at the darkness of the beach. The sea slowly ebbed in and out, hissing like a giant reptile sleeping. But it looked like the reptile was waking up in a rage; clouds on the horizon were creating a stir.

He looked down, and saw a figure walking along the beach. The figure was large, bulky, and was ambling along as though drunk on ale.

Looking harder, Korari could see that it was his oldest brother, Roaveen. Roaveen had acted slightly suspicious around Korari, and he had no idea why this was so.

Ormond and Sophus had seen Roaveen too. Ormond glanced at Korari, "Something wrong with Lord Roaveen down there, wot! He's walking badly; but I've never seen him drink heavily."

Sophus also looked at Korari, "You go on down there, Kor. We'll call the alarm if you've got trouble." Roaveen was still a giant to Korari, who was just beginning to really grow. If a drunken Roaveen was going to be unhelpful, there could be trouble.

Korari sprinted down to the beach. As he ran, he heard the wind begin to howl outside. He ran faster, almost colliding with Lilac and Major Jackers along the way.

He erupted out of the doors, rain hitting his face instantly. The sky was very black.

He ran towards his brother, calling out his name. Korari had little idea of what to do when he approached Roaveen. He could fly into a nasty temper, and would turn incredibly violent in such rages.

When he reached Roaveen, Korari noticed instantly that this was not a drunken stupor: Roaveen's eyes were glassy, and his mouth open. He had been hit with a vision. The expression on his face was shock, even terror.

That scared Korari. He had never seen his brother scared before. It was as if he was watching a fox initiated as Lord of Salamandastron: it was impossible to see without finding it very disquieting.

Korari was transfixed by the look on his brother's face, so that he didn't see the swipe coming.

It was not meant to hit Korari, it was a cruel coincidence, but it nevertheless half stunned the young badger. He fell flat on his back, blacking out temporarily.

When he came to, he saw Roaveen thrashing out furiously, bellowing like a possessed beast. He was howling in a rage, and was laying about murderous blows into thin air.

Korari rose to a crouching position, crawling around his brother for fear of Roaveen accidentally killing him.

Turning behind him, he saw that Seahawk and Jackers were coming out, with forty big-looking hares behind them. Roaveen was oblivious of it all.

The two campaigners pulled their young friend from his brother. The soldiers formed a wary circle around him, unsure of what to do.

All of a sudden, Roaveen uttered a high-pitched keening noise, which caused Korari to jump up, terrified out of his wits. Roaveen had never made such noise before.

Roaveen stared vacantly to the east, the eyes rolled up to his head, and he slumped over in a cold faint.

The hares leaped forward and carried him into the mountain. Jackers and Seahawk guided in Korari.

Two hours later, late into the night, the brothers were once again before their father, along with all who had taken part, including the forty hares, Jackers, Seahawk, Sophus, and Ormond.

Oakfur looked at his son. The visions no longer stunned him, "I want to know what happened, and what you saw, son."

Roaveen shuddered slightly, and spoke in a low voice, which grew stronger as he talked, "I was on my way to the kitchen for a snack, when I heard the sound of battle. It surprised me that the hares beside me did not stop and listen as well, but they suddenly blurred from my vision. I don't remember exactly, but when my vision cleared, they were gone. The noise of battle was even louder, and I ran out to see what was going on."

A tall hare spoke up, "I was there when this happened. I didn't know what was going on with Lord Roaveen. He was acting quite strange, begging your pardon my lord." The last was added in respect to the looks given to her by Oakfur.

The old Badger Lord turned to his son, "What did you see when you went outside?"

Roaveen rubbed his forehead, a pained expression on his face as he tried to think of what he had seen, "I saw a battle. A massive war between our forces and a variety of different vermin. Some of them were screaming like they were possessed, but others were drilled into perfect lines. It was strange, those organized vermin. I saw them cut down hares like hay, so I joined the fight. I saw terrible things…terrible…I saw particular creatures distinguish themselves. One had two axes…(Roaveen shuddered at the memory)… he was incredible to see. He fought equal to ten badgers, and he led the vermin onwards."

Major Jackers shook his head, "I've never heard o' bally vermin fighting properly, even less o' them breeding good fighters."

Colonel Seahawk noted the expression of Roaveen, "What happened next?"

Roaveen shuddered again, as if bracing himself to reveal what he had seen; "I saw the dead hares in piles. And not just hares, but other woodlanders. There were even more wounded, screaming like I've never imagined before. It was…awful. But then I saw Korari cut down by a vermin beside the weasel. I went to save him, but then I saw it was an…an otter!"

Korari was stunned. This was unheard of! It was unthinkable that an otter would fight alongside weasels. Was this a vision, or a nightmare?

Oakfur was thinking the exact same thing. Finally, he spoke, "Some of this must have come from your feelings inside yourself, Roaveen."

Roaveen was confused. So was Korari, "What does that mean?"

Oakfur glanced at his youngest son, "It means that Roaveen had a vision, but only some of it will be true. Some of those things he mentioned are traditionally our greatest fears. Trained vermin, defeat in battle, fallen comrades… those are just a few examples."

Lilac nodded, "That's true."

Jackers and Seahawk looked at each other. Neither could imagine why this was not true, so they shrugged their agreement.

However, Korari was unconvinced. He had a hunch that this was not just a nightmare. He had a feeling that this was the doom predicted so long ago via Roaveen.

Of course, there was no point in challenging his father. There was nothing to be gained from it, so he simply stood there, staring at his brother's shook expression at the memory.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Thornback regained consciousness to a world of immense cold and pain all over his body.

At first, he didn't remember why he had been unconscious, and then realization hit him. He, Ben, and Ebs had tried to cross the precipice, and he had failed in his jump. He had fallen into the river.

"He's coming round, mateys."

"Thank heavens. I thought for sure he was dead."

"Oy! Can you hear us, mate?"

_Who are these voices? I've never heard them before._ The thoughts swam lazily through Thornback's head. He slowly opened his eyes.

The first face he saw was that of a fully-grown male squirrel. The squirrel's face, which was that of kindness and concern, creased into a big smile.

"Ahoy, welcome back, mate. We're just getting a fire ready for you."

Thornback wanted to answer that he felt awful, but instead, he asked a question, "Who are…who are you?"The squirrel laid a paw across the badger's forehead, "Shhh, don't talk just yet. You don't sound too good. Get warm an' patched up first."

Thornback suddenly felt sleepy. The squirrel's face faded and blurred. Finally, he blacked out again.

Thornback didn't know how long he had slept, but when he came to again, there was a lively fire warming him. A number of other beasts were sitting around the fire, one of who was handling a sizzling pan of food.

The squirrel from before came up to him with a bowl of soup, "Have this. You'll feel better."

Thornback began shovelling soup into his mouth. It was very flavoured, and spicy. He gulped more down, thinking he had never tasted anything so good in his life. It was also the spiciest food he had ever eaten.

The squirrel was astonished, "Huh! An' I thought no creature but an otter could eat shrimp n' hotroot soup that fast!"

Thornback looked at the squirrel, "Who are you? Where am I?"

The squirrel poked himself in the chest, "Well, my name is Jander. That otter over there is Skipper. He's the leader of the otters, basically. That there is Raga, Champion of Redwall, the shrew with the gold torque is Log a Log Gunnar, leader of the Gousim."

Thornback was utterly confused, "I've heard of Redwall, but I've never heard of the Gousim before."

Jander shrugged, "Oh, well, they're a big group of united shrews, but it's all arguments and fury underneath their unity."

Thornback looked at Raga. The mouse was a formidable beast, a true warrior, but he seemed to miss something. He wore a sword belt over one shoulder, but it was bereft of a sword.

Thornback stood up, somewhat shakily. The animals around the fire looked around at his direction.

Despite Jander's warning paw, Thornback took hesitant steps forward. He stopped in front of Log a Log and Raga, "Sirs, I must thank you for saving me. I owe my life to you."

Raga inclined his head in a stiff formality. Jander and Skipper, however, accepted his thanks more easily, and handed him a fresh bowl of soup.

The shrews were also kind, though were prone to argue amongst themselves frequently over the littlest things. Thornback was sitting with them, and he himself was astonished at the amount of bickering.

All of a sudden, there was a noise in the bushes. Before anyone could even reach for a weapon, two figures streaked out of the underbrush.

Thornback called out. Ben, hearing the familiar voice and seeing the multitude of creatures, skidded to a halt and swung his club. Ebs had also been about to stop, but Thornback's voice caused him to turn his head to look for the badger. As a result, he tripped over one of the ropes supporting a shrew tent, and fell flat forwards.

The creatures froze in shock and anticipation. Skipper and Jander had slings ready, as did about half the shrews, but the sight of the raccoon astonished them.

Thornback suddenly broke the silence. He strode forward, laughing with relief, "Ben! Ebs! Thank the seasons you're here!"

Ben stared at his friend, and slowly lowered his club halfway. He turned to give a laconic glance at the creatures that wondered what kind of animal he could be.

Ebs, having quickly got up, gave Thornback a brief friend's embrace and looked at Log a Log and Raga, who were clearly the ones in charge.

"I say, ole chaps, sorry for the crashing in an' all that. Still, no harm done, wot!"

The hare's friendly behaviour caused the suspicions to die down, and Skipper came forward to shake the hare's paw, "Well met, matey. I'm Skipper, that there's Jander, Raga, Log a Log Gunnar, and these are the Gousim shrews."

Ben and Ebs stepped forward. Ebs gave a long-legged bow, and gave out his full title. Thornback tried not to laugh at the reactions of some of the shrews.

Ben gave little smile, lifted his club so it rested in both paws (which seemed more like claws to Jander) and introduced himself with a lazy voice.

Jander voiced most of the creature's opinion with a question, "Ben, if it ain't an offence, could you tell us-"

"A raccoon." Ben cut in. None of them had heard of such an animal, but a classification seemed to calm them. One little shrew even tottled forward.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at Ben's club. The attention diverted to the strange club Ben held.

Ben smiled proudly, and answered, "It's a shillelagh."

Thornback had never heard of this word before, "A what?"

"Shi-lay-lee,' Ben answered, pronouncing the word so all comprehended, "It's a right handy weapon, and easy to make."

He went into a description of it. First, he said, you took a blackthorn branch, shaped it out, and covered it entirely with a thin glaze of butter. This would give the club a noticeable lustre after it was fire-hardened. Ben also confided that one end could also be hollowed out, and filled with molten lead while covered with a hard wooden shell, making the blows all the more deadly.

Thornback was deeply interested, and noticed that Ben was greatly enjoying himself at the head of a crowd listening to him. The words flowed easily out of his mouth. Thornback thought to himself that the raccoon would be even more helpful than he had first thought.


	13. Chapter 13

12

Ætharr confided in Rosheen about Ivor's missing key, and indeed about everything else. Iola, fretting in her prison, was growing more eccentric by the day, while Judos was feeling increasingly bitter over Marros and the abuse thrown at the prisoners every day. Only Rosheen remained to speak with. Sometimes Ætharr felt as though she was all that kept him from going insane.

However, even Rosheen was unable to give a definite answer on where the key could be hidden.

Oorlog was in the south of the Hunan territory, making sure the other leaders were with him. Klinus had sent most of his troops with Oorlog, intending to follow in five days.

This gave Ætharr a mere five days to live. He had to find the key very quickly. He knew it was a key, for it seemed the only thing logical for Ivor to make. He just didn't know where it was.

So now, at the first of his five last days, the Ealdor in Exile had to find his only salvation.

He looked at Judos, sitting in a corner of the cage, staring bitterly into space. The Calador weasel went over and sat next to him, "Something wrong?"

Judos sighed from deep inside his throat, "I can't believe Marros betrayed us like that! It's a stab in the back to me most of all."

Ætharr paused, and shrugged, "It could have been worse. We could all be dead right now. At least we cowed him so he won't try anything else."

Suddenly, there was a commotion. Most of the prisoners were crowding around the west side of the cage.

The weasel and otter ran to see what was going on. What they saw was a disgusting and horrible sight.

Ivor was being publicly tortured. Klinus had plainly not broken him, so he was now personally going to break him in front of anyone who could talk.

It was horrible to see what they had done. Ivor had only one eye, the other an empty and bloody socket. There were cuts and bruises all over his body, and he was missing some fur. The torture continued with knotted whips, while the mole could only howl.

The younger slaves were all weeping, burying their faces into the hands of the older ones, who stood grimly on.

Ætharr wanted to break down the cage, take Klinus, and tear him to pieces. But the guards were watching him, all of them posted for this purpose.

Klinus suddenly dropped his whip, and signalled for two guards. Taking the mole, they lead him to a makeshift scaffold. A third guard was setting up a pyramid of firewood under the spot where one would hang.

The slaves shrieked and gasped as Ivor's fate became clear.

Klinus giggled like a babe given a treat. He called to Ivor, who was hanging by his claws on the scaffold, "You have this one chance to tell me what is being done by you and the Calador upstart, or else you will suffer worse than before."

Ivor was weeping, but he said nothing.

Judos felt an impulse to see where Marros was. The Gousim shrew was terrified, staring at the mole with a wild expression, as if he desperately wanted to do something. There was not a trace of guilt in his face.

Judos was suddenly full of wonder at maybe they had not been betrayed at all. Ivor and Ætharr could have been seen talking, could they not?

Klinus broke through his thoughts by screaming, in an almost feminine screech, "Feed the fire!"

The fire slowly lit brighter and brighter, despite the protests of the slaves. Ivor began to howl with panic as the flames licked towards his legs kicking in midair.

Klinus called out, "Where have you hidden it? My guards have seen you working on something for the last days. Where is this object?"

Judos' suspicions were confirmed. A dreadful shame filled him, and he threw himself in the direction of Marros.

A mere two yards from him, Ætharr was staring hard at the mole, whose feet were now burning slowly. The mole was screaming at the top of his voice.

Judos ran towards the shrew and grabbed him. Marros, thinking that Judos wanted vengeance, twisted away.

"Marros! I'm so sorry-" Judos began to call, but at that moment, Ivor suddenly screamed a name.

"Marros!"

The guards were surprised, but to Ætharr, it was all he needed. He leaped towards the mattress that was Marros'.

Klinus saw the movements, and shrieked his anger. He called for his guards, and they ran towards the cage door. Frogtail was at the head, a whip in his paw.

Marros, when his name had been called, was stunned. Judos was also surprised, but he was still thinking of apologizing to his former friend.

Ætharr was furiously digging. Rosheen, seeing what he was doing, formed the prisoners into a living barricade by shrieking commands at them.

The slaves obeyed. They had been united in a desire to avenge Ivor, who was wailing his death cry as the flames killed him.

Judos and Marros were oblivious. They stood staring at each other, begging an answer from the other. Had the world truly gone mad?

The guards burst in, one grabbing Marros…

Judos spurred into action and belted the vermin over the head. Marros saw Frogtail pull out a knife and throw it at Judos.

The shrew jumped, and the blade buried itself into his neck, severing his throat and killed him instantly.

Judos felt as though the world was slowed down as he watched Marros' body fall in front of him. Nothing passed into his vision.

Then he saw red. A mist consumed him, and he gave a feral scream, as he had seen Iola give. He burst into the scuffle of guards and prisoners. He ran for Frogtail.

The rat was beating at a little bank vole, but he was quick to see the otter, and he turned to face his opponent.

Ætharr had the key. He ran for the door, Rosheen and Iola on his heels. He ran for the door, which had been locked behind the guards when they ran in. Slowly, a trickle of slaves followed them.

In a matter of seconds, Ætharr had the door open. He saw Klinus, staring in shock, and he felt his rage come onto him.

Meanwhile, Judos was strangling Frogtail against the cage bars. The prisoners were beating down the other guards. Judos was screaming Marros' name into the sadistic rat's ear. Frogtail turned blue, and finally went limp.

Klinus ran forward, a sword in his paw. He screamed at his enemy, the weasel that stood in the doorway, poised.

Ætharr saw Klinus approaching, and he felt animal instincts coming onto him, and he crouched down. When the time was right, he sprang.

He hit Klinus in the chest. The two sprawled onto the floor. Sword forgotten, Klinus grappled with his opponent.

Iola and Rosheen led the slaves against the soldiers who tried to help their lord. Iola screeched her war cry, and she leapt onto a soldier, sinking her teeth on his ear. Rosheen picked up a burning stick of wood and swung it at the eyes of two others. Elsewhere, Judos led the rest of the slaves into the heart of the fort, sparing no one they saw, for only the bare garrison and their families remained.

All the while, Ætharr and Klinus wrestled on the ground, both scratched and bruised. Klinus' breath came out in great gasps from inside his bulk. However, try as he might, he could not defeat this young warrior who so badly wanted his death.

Then, Ætharr saw his chance. He grabbed the sword Klinus held, and turned it so it pierced his belly.

Klinus' eyes widened, and he slumped dead.

Ætharr cheered his victory to the blue skies. He was free at last.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

They burned the whole fort. Nothing was spared, except for the bodies of those who had fallen. Klinus' queen, a frail creature who had often shown great discomfort at the prisoners' predicament, was sent to find Oorlog and give him the news of what had happened. By the time he knew, it would be too late to do anything.

Ætharr stood, with Judos and Rosheen. All three of them wept. It was an amazing feeling, to stand there, knowing they had overcome a tyrant and killed him. However, there was another reason Judos wept: Marros had not betrayed him, merely resented the alliance with the weasel. For that he had been struck, scorned, and despised. Even then, the shrew had given his life for the otter.

Ætharr was overcome with thoughts. Where was the allied army? Was Ædall alive? The thought of seeing the people he knew filled his eyes with fresh tears of joy. He felt a wonderful urge to laugh, and hugged Rosheen.

The laugh spread, and soon, even Judos and Iola gave quiet chuckles. Iola was busy putting five ears into a bag, prizing them as tokens of her exploits.

Ætharr watched as the prisoners slowly drifted apart. They all wanted to be away from this place before Oorlog found out about it.

The four companions remained together. Iola, Rosheen, Judos, and Ætharr. They gathered together in a little square, facing each other.

Iola broke the silence, "So where is your army then, Ætharr?"

Rosheen looked over to the Ealdor in Exile, as did Judos.

The weasel thought about it, and pointed to the southwest, "If anything, they're somewhere over there."

Without hesitation, Rosheen stated she would go with him.

Ætharr glanced at Judos. The otter had buried Marros on a hilltop with much sunlight and a tree trunk for a headstone. He had engraved the words, "Here lies Marros, a loyal Gousim shrew" with the Sword of Martin.

The magnificent blade had been left behind by Oorlog as proof of his loyalty to Klinus, and it had been the same sword Ætharr had used to stab the sadistic vermin.

The sword had been duly returned to Judos, who wore it at his left side. He absent-mindedly held the hilt as he returned Ætharr's questioning stare.

The weasel broke the silence, "It's up to you to decide the path you take. I won't force you to come with me."

Judos was not even considering it. He had spent a long time with Ætharr in the prison, and in that time, all his previous ideas concerning vermin were entirely put into question. The weasel had become something worth like a brother to Judos, and he loved him like he had loved no one before. However, he had no adequate idea to state his loyalty to Ætharr, so he merely nodded foolishly.

Rosheen glanced at Iola, "And you?"

The vixen gave a bitter grimace showing her filed teeth, "Oorlog murdered my family three seasons back, but took me a prisoner. Me mother, father, an' four brothers. All gone, and that polecat prick's going to die once for each of em'."

So it was that the four companions headed southwest to find the army of Jeri, Hunan, Vireo and Calador.

Where the war against Oorlog would continue.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Jander, Raga, Skipper and his four otters, and the Gousim shrews all decided to go with Lt. Ebs, Ben, and Thornback to the Highlands. They were highly interested in going, even more so because of a vision Raga had from Martin the Warrior.

It had happened the night that Thornback and Ben and Ebs met the group. The original plan had been that the search party was to look for Judos, Mellor, and Marros.

However, the quest was to be altered. Raga had woken everyone in the middle of the night with his sleep walking. As all had gathered around him, he had spoken in a slow solemn voice,

_Warriors of Mossflower_

_The search is at an end_

_Their fate is not in your power_

_The sword carrier claims the axe as a friend_

_Follow the spear to the north_

_The corrupt must fall to justice_

_So, comrades __all,__ go forth!_

_And put the mountain to peace._

The next morning there had been a discussion concerning Martin's message. It was clear to them that Martin was insisting they halt their search of the young trio. He had doubtless planned something for the three of them. Raga had confirmed that the sword carrier was Judos, though who the 'axe' was, no one had any idea, though Thornback had shuddered, and explained Roaveen's prophecy to the crowd. Still, none knew who he or she could be.

It was also clear that Martin wanted them to assist Ben, Ebs, and Thornback in their own quest.

And so, they prepared to leave, with Ebs acting as the guide through the increasingly wild land. The trees were darker, with more pines starting to appear the farther they went.

Ben walked most often right behind, his shillelagh over one shoulder, the raccoon occasionally conversing with those around him.

Jander was often seen with his best friend, Skipper, and the four otters. Three sisters and a brother, their names were June, Talia, Peggy, and Shane. All of the siblings were tough warriors, excellent companions, and great lovers of spicy foods.

As the band progressed, the wind grew stronger, and much colder. More than ever, the cawing of crows and ravens sounded the air. It was a harsh land, and already it was wearing on some beasts' nerves.

After three days' journey, there was an argument in the shrew camp. A big, fierce-looking shrew named Modsat was stirring up trouble.

"Who does Log a Log think he is, following the orders of a ghost!" He shouted at his followers, "I don't mind this Martin the Warrior, but if 'e's telling me to endanger the lives of my wife an' two liddle uns, then I won't have that, by the seasons I won't!"

Those who were listening gave a cheer to the big shrew's words. All went silent as Log a Log approached.

Gunnar was in a good mood for a fight. A fierce light shone in his eyes and he fingered the hilt of his rapier, "Something you want to talk about?"

Modsat snarled his opposition, "We're running low on food, all of us are tired, and we want to go home!" His arguments were slightly exaggerated but he was surrounded by supporters, while Log a Log only had Ben and Raga to back him.

Ben was a dangerous foe, though, and Raga's reputation as a fighter was well known. Log a Log himself had always been a very good leader, and he was supported by the majority of the shrews.

Log a Log could have allowed Modsat and the others to leave, but he knew this would only cause trouble among the rest. He had to suppress this, and now.

He threw down a pair of hazel rods. It was the challenge of a fight, and everyone knew it. Modsat could not back down now.

The shrew was confidant. He drew his blade and entered the space between the rods. Log a Log Gunnar stepped in, and the fight began.

Modsat rushed at his opponent, swinging for the midriff. Log a Log sidestepped him and lunged with his own rapier. Modsat parried it skilfully, earning a defiant cheer from his supporters. Ben swung his shillelagh at a few who were leaning too far over the hazel rods.

Log a Log and Modsat fought furiously. Both were sweating furiously, and both were untouched.

It was then that Log a Log found his chance: bending through his opponent's guard, he scored a gash across Modsat's side.

The shrew clutched his side. It was a flesh wound, but it was enough to make him far more cautious.

Log a Log's duel attracted more of his supporters, including Jander and Skipper. It was still fairly even, but Log a Log Gunnar had scored the first blow.

The fight went on, both fighters slowing down due to weariness.

It was then that Modsat scored a cut just above Log a Log's eye. Had the shrew leader not ducked, it would have blinded his eye beyond repair. Be that as it may, the fight was far from over.

After another ten minutes, both bled from cuts and bruises, and the cheering was dying down.

Modsat suddenly seemed to trip, but instead, he hurled a pawful of sand at Log a Log's eyes. As the shrew leader's paw shot for his eyes, Modsat bulled forward, putting everything into one, fluid lunge. It went straight for Log a Log's midriff.

Who had known that if he had feigned blindness, his opponent would think the duel won. As the attack came from Modsat, Log a Log ducked and tripped the big shrew. As Modsat ploughed into the ground, Log a Log gave him a hearty kick in the ribs. In a loud voice, he called out to all those present, "Modsat is a troublemaker, a liar, and a coward. Let him live in shame, and do not associate with him."

He strode off, his rapier still in his paw. Ben gave a sardonic smile at the sight, and strode off to find Ebs and tell him of the latest events.

From then on, the opinion among the shrews was subdued, loyal to their leader. But some still listened to Modsat, but they were mere whispers in the darkness. Most of the shrews willingly followed Gunnar.

Thornback was astonished at the huge escort they now had. It was an amazing sight to see; like a caravan on the move, with tents, families, and cooking pots.

However, he preferred the company of Ben and Ebs. Ben would sometimes talk to Jander and the otters, but for some reason, he did not talk to Raga. The warrior mouse seemed to avoid him, dislike him. The badger had not seen any rivalry between them, so why were they acting like this?


	14. Chapter 14

13

Arly had visited Adisa at least four times over the course of a week. None complained, for the big hedgehog seemed more than able to handle the civet. But it seemed strange to some of those thoughtful creatures how he volunteered so willingly. Abbott Varrus, normally so calm and reasonable, grew more suspicious and cross about Adisa by the day. He had tried to speak to him, and it had ended the same way. Mother Sara herself was puzzled by this behaviour from Varrus.

Varrus grew suspicious of Arly, and so, on the seventh day of Adisa's imprisonment, he decided to talk to Arly.

The hedgehog lumbered in to the Abbott's quarters, looking slightly worried. Varrus assumed that the hedgehog had been busy.

The old otter indicated a cup of tea, "Would you like a drink, my son?"

Arly shook his head in the almost mulish way which he refused tea or coffee, "No thanks, father. Could I ask why I'm 'ere?"

Varrus looked into the hedgehog's eyes, "Alonzo, you have volunteered to guard Adisa three times since your first time, is that correct?"

Arly gave a genuine thought to it, and nodded his head, "Oh yeah, yeah."

Varrus paused, and gave another question, "Do you ever talk to him?"

At this, Arly suddenly had a troubled look on his face, but just for a moment. Varrus knew there was something afoot. Arly was not a subtle creature, but a very loyal and helpful one, so if there was something amiss, the hedgehog would not be able to hide it from someone he had known his whole life. The Abbott's mind went back to when a young Jander had stolen a dozen oat cakes, and a young Arly had bravely tried to take the blame rather than tattle on his friend.

Varrus almost felt sentimental as he spoke again, "Arly, are you hiding something from me? It is probably trivial is it not?"

Arly shifted in his seat, and answered, "Probably."

Varrus leaned back. "So what do you talk about?" he asked as if it was merely a friendly conversation he was having with an old friend.

Arly shrugged, "Well, we talk about some o' his traditions, know what I'm saying? 'E also asks about my life here, and he eats. Smokes too." The last sentence was added almost as an afterthought.

Something came back to Varrus from his past, to his horror. Nevertheless, he was a far more subtle creature than Arly and hid it, "What do you mean, he smokes?"

Arly thought about it, "It's real strange, man. He's got some kind of substance in a pouch, and he smokes it sometimes. He gets this strange feel about 'im, you know?" He somehow felt he should not mention he had tried it once. It was very strange, not quite like drinking ale, but satisfying nonetheless.

Varrus almost shuddered at the thought, "Is that everything he speaks of?"

Arly suddenly froze. But for perhaps the first time in his life, he hid his discomfort by pretending to think. Adisa had asked many questions of Varrus, and with every answer Arly had given, he felt that Adisa knew a whole different side to Varrus than was believed to exist.

All this went through his head, but he felt that this was something that was best hidden between him and Adisa. Adisa had warned him that the two of them would get into trouble, and he had developed a liking for the civet, almost like an older brother he had not heard of before this week.

Arly took a breath, hoped to heaven that he would keep a straight face, and said, "He didn't go very far. All he wanted to know was when you'd let him go."

Varrus paused, and sighed, "Slade has been murdered, and we are investigating who it could have been." Indeed, Varrus had talked to all the visitors. Hal Copland the farmer mouse had given a full alibi for the evening of Slade's murder. Varrus could tell that he was not the killer. The bankvole brothers had been resistant, insisting that this was an insult, and little information had been received. Even the long hours of wait had not broken their spirits, and Varrus had given up on them for the moment. Elial, the old fox that had been in the Infirmary for the night, was amused at the suspicion of those interrogating him: he had stated his innocence with the air of someone who truly did not care of what was to come. Hella had been quite angry at the fact that someone could commit murder, and she stated that she felt only vermin could commit murder in Redwall. The lady squirrel had caused Varrus some puzzlement: she was very unconcerned about the death of another squirrel. She was totally black, and seemed to be one of those lone wolves that often stayed out of Mossflower. She had shrugged about her alibi, saying it was unreliable.

The interrogations had angered Varrus for the lack of information on who the murderer of Slade was. He wanted to know very badly, for he knew that the murderer was only biding their time for the moment to bring him to terms with his past.

He did not show any of this to Arly. He merely thanked the hedgehog for his time, sent him cheerfully out, and meditated on the matter until supper was announced.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Two days of hard marching. Two days of sleeping under the stars. Two days of avoiding open fields and places of ambushes.

Judos, Ætharr, Iola, and Rosheen marched and ran the equivalent to a week's march the Long Patrol was used to.

Ætharr could begin to see the tracks of the army. Footsteps, badly hidden due to the quantity, marched across the countryside.

All four feared Oorlog. They knew that they would not let them get away easily. Oorlog had many friends in these parts, so it was mandatory to avoid anyone seeing them.

In the two days, Ætharr had talked with his three companions and he had found out many things about them. In particular, he had spoken with Rosheen.

One night, they had lain in the comfortable boughs of a large elm. They had gazed up at the stars, which shone like little suns.

Rosheen had talked about her country. The Falcarragh tribe were tough warriors, and they were also brawlers among themselves. But they also valued music. They wrote countless songs of their deeds, they sang easily, and they were also worshippers of very many gods, much like the Caladors.

"Who is your father?" Ætharr had asked.

"My father is one of the tribe's top fighters. He is also a good father to his children. I am his only daughter. He also has five sons. Two of them are already fighting in the army. The others are still too young to fight." Rosheen looked at Ætharr, "Tell about Calador."

And Ætharr had talked of his country. He had talked of his cousin, his friends, his life, and he had spoken of his father and mother.

As she had listened, Rosheen had hugged Ætharr, her face full of sympathy and sadness. Just seeing this display of emotion, the young weasel had wept, as he had done with Judos, seemingly so long ago. They had fallen asleep like that.

Now, on the third day, Iola was ahead of the group as a tracker. And she smelled something.

She ran back to the others, "I think we've found them."

The thought of seeing all the familiar faces in the army drove Ætharr to a speed unmatched in his life before. The others had difficulty just to keep him in their sights, so driven was he to find the army.

They found them. Ætharr and his companions were on the edge of a lake beside a waterfall, from which they could see the army. The lake was protecting their south and east flanks, while a cliff protected the north. The waterfall was the link between the cliff and the lake, while the reeds grew thick alongside a number of abandoned boats.

Ætharr wondered about the abandoned boats, but was very relieved they were there, for it made the trip so much easier.

But there was still a problem. He barely knew how to swim, let alone use a boat. He suspected Iola and Rosheen were equally unable, for they both looked apprehensive at the water.

He turned to ask Judos for help, but saw the otter was already in the water, laughing like a child. It had been a long time since the otter had been in water.

When he had gotten over his joy, Judos examined the boats. Skipper had taught him the basic skills for steering a boat, and he had had lessons from other otters passing through Redwall.

Soon enough, with help from the other three, Judos repaired one boat sufficiently for the trip back.

Iola was the first to notice a presence as they crossed the lake. But when the pike surfaced beside them, they all realized how much trouble they were.

Rosheen had shrieked, and the voice had caught the attention of the army across the lake. None of the companions noticed the audience that gathered rapidly on the opposite side of the lake.

Iola and Rosheen grabbed the sides of the boat to steady it, while Judos and Ætharr prepared weapons to fight off the big head. But it seemed almost silly to them, for how were they to survive in the pike's own realm?

Judos suddenly realized he had to do what an otter did best. Grabbing Ætharr, he spoke quickly, "I need a hatchet, now!"

Ætharr had gathered the weapons stolen from him in prison from Klinus' hall. Now he gave Judos two throwing hatchets without question.

The otter tucked one into his belt, the another between his teeth, and dived into the water.

For a while, he disappeared, but then he reappeared on the pike's back, hacking desperately at its head. The pike roared in anger, and shook the otter off its back. Judos jumped quickly into the water, the pike after him. Iola wailed, and Ætharr turned away, fearing the worst.

A yell caused him to turn back. Judos had resurfaced, far more agile than the huge pike, and was swimming right for its good eye.

The pike lunged forward, and suddenly screeched as its last good eye was taken. Judos swam away quickly, but the pike had now become completely infuriated. Using its lateral line, it began to pursue the otter, baring its long teeth menacingly.

Ætharr stared helplessly from the boat's edge. Rosheen and Iola were quickly steering the boat in the direction of the pike in an attempt to assist Judos.

Judos resurfaced, his brain numb with the horror and excitement of what he was doing. He suddenly felt a wonderful urge to laugh. Here he was, wrestling a full-grown and very dangerous pike with nothing but his swimming skills and two hatchets, one of which was buried in the pike's eye socket.

He had scarce thought this when he saw the dark shape of the pike looming from the corner of his eye. Lunging away, it did not escape the open-mouthed pike's long teeth raking his body with long scratches.

Pain surged through the otter, but it also consumed him with adrenaline. He knew now what to do to end this pike.

He tore in the direction of the boat. Now was his only chance. Time seemed to slow for the briefest moment under the water, just him and the pike.

He broke the surface, all his energy into this fateful race. The pike was behind him, preparing for the strike to make the fight its own.

He quickly climbed into the boat, gesturing towards the mast. It was pointed on one end.

With a single stroke of his axe, Ætharr hewed it down. Rosheen and Iola took it, Judos and Ætharr holding the boat steady.

The pike lunged for the boat, its maw open; only to have the mast lunged like a spear into its brain.

Even as Rosheen and Iola let go of the mast, they knew it was dead. The pike thrashed in the water, weakening very fast.

Judos shivered. The other three simply stared at him. He had won a fight with a monstrous pike, and all in under fifteen minutes.

Suddenly, they began to laugh. It was a laugh of relief, of happiness, and also at the surprise of the sudden cheering that they heard across the water.

Taking the four oars from inside the boat, they rowed steadily to shore, where creatures of all kinds grabbed them with glee. There were Caladors, Vireos, Jeri, Hunan, and even a group of strange-looking beasts who looked like fishers.

There was a roar, and from out of the crowd, came the leaders of the army. They grabbed Ætharr in an embrace.

Ætharr wept at the sight of his cousin in tears. Jinn was laughing, Horal was asking him questions he did not listen to, and the others were equally happy to see him.

He brought his companions to the fore, introducing them to all present. Each one was applauded loudly, especially Judos, for the otter had outfought a creature that had conquered an army.

Ædall explained what had happened to the army with Ætharr's absence, and there were tears shed over the deaths of Coldbane, Leofir, and the other beasts that had been lost to the pike. Ætharr had shown rage at the death of Gæruff, but was satisfied that at least some of the remaining theigns were still loyal.

Ætharr looked suddenly at Horal, who was silent, "Horal, you are now a theign. You will hold Leofir's old territory." It was fitting, for Horal had been born in that area, and he was a good fighter. Horal was stunned at the new appointment, but gave a respectful bow. Ætharr, for all the long years of friendship, was still the rightful Ealdor.

Then Ætharr told his story, but Judos was not listening.

Coldbane. The name his mother had stated to a younger Varrus. He had gone all this way to find Coldbane, only to find that he had died a gruesome death at the hands, or rather the fins, of the pike he had just wrestled in the water.

He allowed himself to be escorted to a medic's tent to be treated for the scratches the pike had inflicted. The otter had not even noticed that he had been slowly losing blood, and he suddenly felt very weak.

An hour later, Ætharr came to see him. Rosheen was with him, as was Iola. They all smiled down on him, but he was too furious and depressed. He was thinking of his past, the family he never knew, and the oath of vengeance never fulfilled. Although Coldbane had certainly suffered, it did not seem very much to Judos if he had not been there to see it. Vengeance had been robbed of him, and he hated the mockery that Death inflicted.

He did not want to see his friends, so he asked them to leave.

Ætharr, however, did not leave. He knew of what Judos was thinking, having heard the story in the prison cage.

He looked down at his new friend, "Will you return to Redwall, Judos? If that is your wish, I shall arrange all you wish given to you. Supplies, a boat, even an escort if that's what you'll need."

Judos looked at Ætharr, he suddenly realised he could only stay with him. He did not want to go back to Redwall. The memories haunted him, and he hated the arrogance of the system in the Abbey. He wanted to be with his friends, who had treated him as an equal, who promised adventure, and the otter wanted adventure.

He clasped the weasel's hand, "I'm with you, until Oorlog is killed."

Ætharr gave a genuine smile of gratitude that the otter was staying, "And afterwards?"

Judos grinned, "We'll see won't we?"

Ætharr nodded in agreement, "Aye. That we will."


	15. Chapter 15

14

Ben and Raga seemed to dislike each other with a natural repulsion. Ben was a wanderer, a rogue, and a mercenary. Raga was the ideal knight in his values, but he was also highly concerned with maintaining the law and rules. It was normal they would clash, Thornback grew to realize, but it was still a pity that the two did so. Both were great warriors, good people, but otherwise they were polar opposites.

The mountains were not yet in sight, but that was only because they were travelling through dark pine forests. There were few scrubs, and there were no leaves on the trees anymore.

The group passed by a stream, where they stopped to collect cold water. It was a relief for them, for they had marched all day in rough country.

Lieutenant Ebsenor Fornicopulus Suppullis, however, was a serious campaigner, and he told all the creatures to ration their water for later.

Modsat, the rebellious shrew who had been humbled by Log a Log, leered at the old hare, and drained his canteen.

Ben watched the shrew with a very mocking look in his eyes. Thornback noticed it and asked him what he was thinking.

"That shrew is going to drop dead in five hours." He said brutally. The raccoon made no other comment about it and started a conversation with Shane, with whom he had made a rapid friendship.

Shane was the only male that Skipper had brought along, the others being his two older sisters and one younger sister. They all got along in a strange way. The sisters would often gang up against their brother, while he would call on his friends like Jander, Ben, and Skipper to help him out.

Jander was another creature that Ben liked. Both were the same kindred spirit in different bodies. But even the raccoon and squirrel had things in common. Ben was an average climber and a good swimmer, while Jander was an expert climber and a rudimentary swimmer. Both had large appetites, a taste for adventure, and unique senses of humour. Jander would play silly, child-like pranks, and Ben would be very cynical and sarcastic.

The march continued on, guided by Lt. Ebs. A cold wind began to blow after a few more hours, and so the animals quickened their pace to warm themselves up.

The one who was most uncomfortable was Modsat. As Ben predicted, he was very thirsty, and he would soon need to have a drink to avoid dehydration.

He managed to get some from his few followers, who he could easily bully and belittle. The reason he got away with it now was the fact that everyone was so intent on reaching their destination.

It was around dusk that they came towards a grove of pine trees. At seeing this, Lt. Ebs suddenly stopped. There was an expression on his face that was a cross between apprehension and trying to remember something.

Raga approached him, "What is it, Lieutenant?"

Ebs frowned, "We always tried to avoid this place, but it's been so long I don't remember-"

A loud cawing interrupted him.

From out of the grove came dozens of crows and ravens. They were all savage birds, lean from the empty lands, and ready to fight.

The first birds were killed by Ben's shillelagh, Thornback's spear, Jander's sling, and Skipper's rudder. Ebs leapt into the air, taking two birds with his mighty kicks. Log a Log led his shrews with slings, rapiers, and long poles against the birds.

Thornback was slashed by the talons of an especially ruffled raven. Turning his attention to the bird, he cracked it over the head with the blade of his spear.

Beside him, Shane's younger sister Peggy was somersaulting, her tail inflicting many crushing blows.

Shane and Talia were fighting with their slings, dealing out much pain to the birds around them.

Ben and Jander were fighting back-to-back, surrounded by crows and ravens.

Ben's shillelagh was dark with the blood of many dead and dying birds, and it swung harder than ever in the able hands of the mercenary. Jander had taken Talia's javelin and was impaling as many birds as he could.

Raga came charging through the fight, a sword in his paw. He bellowed to the fighting beasts, "Rally! We'll break through the swarm.

When he had gathered about thirty shrews, he delivered a charge that broke through the ranks of the birds. The shrews howled as they were injured and then gave payback worthy of heroes. Always in front was Raga, the shrew rapier in his hand bloodied to the hilt.

As they broke through, the others followed, taking their lead. Soon, the birds took enough, and flew back to their grove, fleeing the cheers of the force that had beaten them, and had smitten more than half the birds' number.

All turned to congratulate Raga, who had turned the day. Ben alone did not, merely giving a laconic nod at the warrior mouse, who returned an equally curt nod.

The journey continued on, until Ebs gave a loud cry of happiness.

Through the cold wind, they saw mountains. Mountains, hills, and scrubby forests at the bases. Among this scenery were many hares with gray coats fringed with white.

They had made it to the Highlands!

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

The troupe marched forward, Ebs walking proudly in front.

All of a sudden they were surrounded by rugged hares. They held axes, swords, and pikes. One called out, "Who be this 'ere mawb aproachin' oor moontains?"

Thornback was stunned by the thick accents. He had thought that they all spoke like Ebs. But Ebs had been away so long he had lost the accent.

Ebs spoke up, "It is I, Lieutenant Ebs!"

The mountain hares were surprised. A few whispered to each other.

The big hare who had spoken gave a nasty smile, "Ah, noo, here we have you again, Ebsenor. Tell meh, why did you have tay coom back after awll this time?"

Ebs paused, frowned at the hare, and after a pause spoke in a disgusted voice. "A son of old Drost, I'd recognize that leer anywhere!"

The hare, who looked quite important, spat at the ground Ebs stood on, "Aye, the very bluidy same, you miserable aithlis!" It meant disgrace, but Ebs did not translate it to his friends. "I'm his eldest son Drostan, captain of Taskill's personal guard."

Ebs, who was a lieutenant, did not acknowledge the younger hare's rank, "How's your father?"

Drostan shrugged, "He's nought wot he used tay be, but 'tis tay be expected, seeing as 'e's yoor age!" At this insult, his followers laughed out loud.

Thornback and Ben stepped forward. The two of them were formidable enough to stop the laughing. By now a crowd of hares had gathered. Some whispered, pointing at the badger, but even more pointed at the raccoon with his elaborate shillelagh.

Drostan stared hard at the badger, his face expressionless. Then he caught sight of Ben, and called out, "Oy, wot are you then, ugly? Did the gods give you a new design of stripes to tell you apart from yoor brother here?"

Only the most loyal of Drostan's followers laughed, for Ben had repositioned his weapon so he stood in a fighting stance.

Ben spoke, "I ain't a badger, but at least I ain't a measly piece of crow shit, you dirt-faced asshole." The raccoon was nothing but scorn and hate for the hare, and he looked like he would carelessly break Drostan's skull.

The others gasped. Clearly no one spoke to Drostan like that and got away with it. Drostan himself had turned red beneath his fur and had drawn his broadsword. The other hares backed away, and Drostan charged forward, swinging at Ben.

The raccoon sidestepped, and swung his shillelagh. It collided with the mountain hare's ribs, cracking three instantly. Thornback and Ebs looked at each other. Ben was smart: he could have split the hare's skull clean open if he had wanted to. It was a lesson to him, but it was one Drostan would not learn from.

Drostan was hurt, but he did not cry out for fear of appearing weak. Instead, he turned to the raccoon more cautiously, his sword ready to lunge.

All of a sudden, there was a loud "HALT!" from somewhere in the crowd. The ranks parted, and another platoon of armoured mountain hares marched up. There was something different about this group compared to the first guard. Drostan's company was more surly, arrogant, and disrespectful. This group carried itself more nobly, and seemed to be more aware of their duty. In front was a hare taller than most present, a hatchet in his belt, and a sword in his paw. Both of his weapons were unique. The sword was medium length, with a straight blade. The blade was intricately designed with black hares running along the blade. The hatchet's blade was also designed with black hares, and it was longer and wider than most hatchets. The hare was handsome, young, and had honest features.

He gave Ebs and his company a long, speculative look, and then saluted Ebs, Thornback, and Raga, who stood to the side away from Ben and Drostan, "Sirs! Welcum to the Highlands. My name is Captain Maon, and,' his face split into a smile, 'Ah must say Ah'm glad tae see you, Lieutenant Ebsenor."

Ebs frowned for the second time that hour, only this time, he gave a laugh, "Of bally course! Maon, second son of Mungan, I knew you as a leveret!"

Maon nodded eagerly, "Aye, that's true. Mah father will be fair pleased tae see you again. He's still a bezoomny fighter, in battle and in politics!" Evidently he had made a joke, for he and Ebs began to laugh.

Raga, always one to take charge, stepped forward, "My name is Raga, the Warrior of Redwall Abbey. We have come in peace, and wish to be treated as such."

Drostan snorted, "Redwall, hah! They have no power here with us." His lackeys agreed sourly.

Maon, however, stated, "Come. Ah'll take you all to my father. He'll be pleased tae see you."

Maon and his followers led them through the crowd, towards the city that had appeared behind the hills.

It was an incredible city. Half of it was composed of stone buildings; the other half was hewn into the mountains like Salamandastron. The greatest building of all was a fortress on top of the biggest hill. It was a mighty feat of construction, and it sported a long banner displaying a red pike on a grey field.

Maon threw the banner a look of contempt before turning into the maze of smaller buildings.

He stopped at the roots of the mountain. There was a smaller fort, almost like a barracks. It was still magnificently built, with white marble for the bricks. The banner on this house showed a black hare in full speed against a sky blue background. Thornback noted that the hare was the same that decorated the blades of Maon's weapons, and the jupons he and his followers wore.

They approached the door, which was guarded by three big hares with the black hare. They recognized Maon, and stepped aside with a salute.

They entered a house that had been well furnished and looked after. Candles lit the hall, while the rooms were lit by the light coming in from arrow slit windows. There were also candles protected by the wind with a glass half-cover.

Portraits in oil paints covered the walls, all featuring the faces of old or middle-aged hares.

There were more hares inside, all with sky blue bands on their sleeves. Most carried no weapons, though many were on the wall, ready for use.

Maon led the company into the cellar. It was lit and warmed by a large fireplace on the north wall. The south wall was a veritable armoury, complete with a blacksmith's forge. There was a large wooden door on the east wall, while the west wall contained some maps and an old tapestry.

In the center was a large table, where three hares were seated on one of the short sides. The eldest of them, a thickset hare with quivering jowls, stood up with a shout of surprise.

"Good lord, macs! He's back! My awld friend!" Tears began to pop up in the old hare's eyes as he embraced Lt. Ebs, while Maon and the other two hares- the old hare's macs, or sons, greeted the rest of the group. They had made it to friends.


	16. Chapter 16

15

Oakfur had been the eldest son in his family. He had had four other brothers, all of whom were devoted to him and he to them. Their father was Hemlock, the lord of a wide stretch of land in the south-east lands beyond the lands of the vermin clans and Mossflower. Hemlock had been a stern father and a rigid thinker. He had entrusted the management of his estate to Oakfur at a very young age. The heir had not had the same childhood as his brothers, for Hemlock wanted to make sure his eldest son was responsible.

Gradually, the other children of Hemlock began to exclude their brother. Hemlock always seemed to show much more attention to Oakfur, and they resented him for it. Oakfur, in truth, had resented his brothers for having so much free time. This resentment fuelled higher and higher until a few of the brothers spoke against their father, and there were quarrels. Oakfur himself could not stand the tension, and left his home after a bitter quarrel with his brothers. He knew that between his angry and discontented brothers, and his strict father, he was not home.

And so he had gone to Salamandastron, the realm of his father's older brother, Starcach. The Badger Lord had no sons of his own, so he had accepted his nephew as his heir. Oakfur had honed the skills of responsibility, warfare, and in all the time of his youth, he had sworn he would treat his sons equally.

Time passed, he found a wife, a gentle creature called Dunepaw. The two had taken a great liking to each other at first, and it escalated to a burning passion for each other. However, the happiness came to an end, when Dunepaw had died in childbirth, the baby also dead. A little daughter who had not even been named by the young couple. Oakfur had spent much time in grief, until Dunepaw had been dead for a very long time. Then he had taken a new wife, for the badger could feel age creeping up. The new wife had been named Betony, a pretty creature, but a half his age. First Roaveen had come, then Thornback, and finally, Korari. The family had begun badly from the start, and Oakfur took his sons back to Salamandastron, and Betony returning home in hysterics. Oakfur's grief and anger at this second failure of marriage, coupled with the grief over Dunepaw caused him to forget the promise he had made long ago to himself. He made the same choices his father had made, and favoured Roaveen from the beginning. However, he would always say he had fine sons in all of them.

What he could have also said was that he had a daughter left for dead, albeit unintentionally. The little babe had not been dead, but the grief at his love's death caused Oakfur to miss the pulse in his daughter's neck.

As Oakfur mourned, he paid two bank voles to bury his wife and child. The couple, who had desperately wanted a child, knew that Oakfur would not want his daughter, even if he knew she was alive. He had not even looked at her, so concerned was he with his wife's condition.

So the voles had raised the babe, given it a name, and when she was old enough, the three of them went to live in Redwall Abbey, where the badger had grown up to be Mother Sara, feared and loved by the Dibbuns of Redwall.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

"Attention, there, presumptuous combatants! Listen to the commands of thy officers, you vapid bumpkins!"

Ormond, Korari, and the young recruits could barely cease laughing at Ensign Sophus' manner of speech. It was a bad habit of Sophus' and he did nothing to help end it.

Ensign Ormond, Sophus' best friend, spoke up, "Ensign Sophus, maybe we should discipline this rabble with fifteen laps around the mountain!" That exercise was the ultimate test for hardened Long Patrol hares. It was not even thinkable that this green Regiment could accomplish that, and they knew it.

Roaveen looked sternly at Ormond, "That's enough, Ensign." He spoke with such with such finality because he saw that the recruits had gained a light in their eyes. It was a defiance to prove that they were as good as the Long Patrol. Even some of the younger veterans thought it would be a good idea.

Roaveen, however, did not want to risk failure. It would humiliate these hares, and it would be a stain on him.

Korari glanced at his brother from the corner of his eye. Personally, he felt that these hares should try. Life did not always promise success, and it was a good lesson to learn. It would also give these hares a hunger to better themselves until they accomplished their goal.

However, he was not the commander of the Mountain Regiment, so he took a step back in silent acknowledgement of his brother's authority. However, he nurtured the thoughts he had on the subject.

Roaveen had another surprise. It was becoming a rare thing for Roaveen to make such a speech to the whole Regiment. The veterans and leverets alike crowded together to look at their commander. He signalled to Lieutenant Krieg, who brought a little cart forward. The cart had a cloak draped over it, so they were unable to see what was inside.

Roaveen spoke up, "We have been training hard for a long time, and all have been showing wonderful signs of progress.' Roaveen paused to sneeze before continuing, 'As of now, we will develop skirmishing skills further. Our slinging and lance drills will from now on be halved it order to practice with these."

He nodded to Krieg, who drew back the cloaks. Inside the carts were stacks of short swords, known among the educated and the veterans as gladiums. The swords were encased in leather scabbards, and each one looked polished. At the sight of their new weapons, the youngsters, and even a few veterans looked impressed and interested.

Leaflock, easily the most beloved of the leverets in the Mountain Regiment, spoke up with a childlike longing in his voice, "Are we going to use those from now on?"

Roaveen, to the shock of all but the veterans in the Regiment, shook his head, "Those will be given to you later. As of now, we will use those." He pointed over the heads of the hares.

Like one giant beast, they turned. There was another cart, cunningly placed there by Sergeant Liofe. Inside there were wooden swords built in the same style as the gladium, but with more weight. Somehow, they did not attract the same enthusiasm as the gladiums.

The veterans in Roaveen's ranks, however, showed more agreement and approval of these training swords than the gladiums. A soldier that trained with those heavy tools later found the real swords, often half the weight of their counterparts, simple things to wield.

The leverets learned quickly that it was going to be hard, but they also knew, with all confidence of youth, that it was going to be easy by tomorrow.

Roaveen was cheerful that his proposition had been so successful. There had been a nagging fear in the back of his mind, that there was dissention among the hares under his command. But of course, there had obviously been no disagreement, surely? Unless his eyesight betrayed him, or they were keeping it secret from him.

That last thought was absolutely ridiculous, he thought. If there was anger, why hide it from him? Why not try to stand him down when he was introducing something?

He tried to put the suspicions out of his mind, but they crept back every so often until they became an annoyance to him.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

The campaign began again within twenty-four hours of Ætharr's return to the army. With the expert boating skills of the povos d'agua, the whole army crossed the lake. Directions were made, scouts sent ahead, and the allies began to march under a half moon.

Ætharr was back at the head of the council, and he gave his three companions seats in the council. This was new, for in the traditional Hunan customs, females were not permitted to the councils, while in the other tribes, it was a rare thing indeed.

The Ealdor in Exile turned a deaf ear to complaints, and enforced his decision by punishing two Calador weasels and three Jeri martens for harassing the two. Generally, though, Rosheen and Iola were respected. They had, after all, been the ones who had driven the mast into the pike.

Horal now sat on the council as a theign, which gave him more influence than when he had been a childhood friend of Ætharr. Leofir's old troops took their new theign without complaint, and followed his orders willingly. He was one of them, and he still remembered some of his old neighbours.

With the death of Coldbane, Ibos had been faced with a dilemma. Coldbane had been an important captain, second only to Blackback, the sable-coloured ferret whose reputation was spoken of in hushed whispers. Ibos' father, King Nero of the Vireo tribe, would have to appoint a new captain personally, and a messenger was duly sent to the king. Later on it was to be found out he had appointed a war-hardened and battle-scarred stoat named Icepaw to Coldbane's rank for crushing the rebellion that Nero had been occupied with.

However, Ibos appointed a captain of his own, a warlike but respected rat named Ruma. Ruma knew the ways of war, and had gained a face from it. One cheek was a mass of scars and marred fur, the other patched from the sun. His left eye was slightly milky, and his fangs were a faded yellow. However, he commanded obedience in his soldiers as his mentor, Coldbane had commanded, and he was inclined to have something to say in council.

These new appointments meant that the battle plan had to be changed. But this would wait until Brocovar, a large fortress near the Jeri and Hunan borders, was captured. Küchulår, the old polecat in charge of the Hunan soldiers, was intent on taking the fortress quickly, and he had a plan for it.

He explained it in the council. He would masquerade as if he was a Hunan captain with Oorlog, and he would let the army in just as their foes' guard was down.

Many were in agreement on this, but Iola and Jinn frowned. Jinn, ever the scrutinizing and clever of them, called out to Küchulår, "Isn't it well known that your lord is on the side of Ætharr?" Äal was officially an ally.

Küchulår looked around, suddenly questioning, "You seriously don't believe that do you?"

A stunned silence enveloped the creatures. Ætharr and Ædall looked grim, but it was an angry Jinn that spoke up first, "What do you mean, Küchulår?"

The old warrior sighed, "Äal was the one who betrayed Ætharr to Oorlog. He was also to get information about us. Why do you think he left? And he doesn't care about me or the warriors: all he cares about is his own survival."

The attendants were both outraged at what the words meant, but were still surprised at the honesty in Küchulår. Blackback spoke up, "Why did you hide it from us, and why now, polecat?"

Küchulår gave the black ferret a sad smile, "My lord sent me a message yesterday. He is telling me to flee, and then meet up with him, but I will do no such thing. I swear it on my honour and entrance to the Hall of Warriors."

The polecat had cemented his honour by swearing on the great promise of the afterlife, and as a result, everyone knew he could be trusted.

Blackaxe stood up on behalf of all of them, "Once Oorlog is defeated, you will have a portion of the Hunan land and rule it as you wish." The others nodded their support.

Küchulår bowed his head, and said, "Me thanks to youse. But we have to get back to the plan of capturing this fortress. I'll pretend I've escaped Ætharr's army, and they'll hopefully let me in. I'll take out the guards, and open the gates for as long as I can. You then break in, and Brocovar will be ours."

It was very good. Äal would have given word that his captain and his soldiers were on the run.

The animals were all in agreement that it would be a good plan.

Thus, Küchulår and his Hunan soldiers went ahead of the army, to Brocovar, which was now only three days' march away.

Ætharr found it a great pleasure to introduce his companions to his friends in the army. There was Ædall, of course; and Jinn, the sly diplomat; Horal the loyal friend-turned theign; Tran, his old teacher; and Ibos, the heir to King Nero of Vireo. There was also Ferric, who had been with Ætharr since the day his father, Ællear, had been killed; and there was Aletorix, who had been theign to Ællear for many seasons, and who now served Ællear's son. Continuing on was Blackaxe, the fierce and intelligent leader of the Jeri clan; Ervaring, his general; Snauw, a lean marten that was Blackback's top captain; Redjaw, the farmer-turned captain who had met Ætharr first; Rojo, Ætharr's marten lieutenant; Blackback, the savage black ferret; Küchulår, the gnarled fighter; and many more were introduced and well met.

Judos was welcomed specially by Ædall, as was Rosheen. Aletorix had given Ætharr a knowing smile when he had met Rosheen, but he was exceedingly polite to her all the same.

Iola was regarded as gifted, for she collected the ears of those she had defeated in battle, and she was also something of a seer. She would look to the sky and earth for signs of the future, but so far she had made no predictions yet.

Judos was regarded as a hero, and a sign of defiance to the natural order of otters being enemies of weasels. The Calador weasels liked his spirit, and he made friends quickly.

But there was no doubt that the greatest friendship he held was with Ætharr and his cousin, Ædall. Together with Rosheen, they made a square of friendship, and in Rosheen's and Ætharr's case, passion.

Finally, after three days, the scouts sighted the massive fortress of Brocovar.

The siege was soon to begin.


	17. Chapter 17

16

Lieutenant Ebsenor Fornicopulus Suppullis felt an affectionate rush of tears prick at his eyes as he embraced Mungan, his old friend since they had been leverets.

Mungan too, was moved by his friend's return from long seasons of self-exile. He was also very gracious with the other arrivals. Thornback, especially, he gave a little bow of respect, for though no badger had been ruler in the history of the Highlands, Mungan remembered the King's Scroll, and knew of the solemn alliance between Bucko Bigbones and Lord Brocktree.

He introduced his sons to the group. His eldest was Macrath, a hare already looking like his father in appearance, but much lighter and younger-looking than the portly and aged Mungan. Maon was obviously the second son, and he gave a cheerful wink. There was also the youngest son, Machar, who was very much unlike his older brothers. He did not seem a soldier; he had the look of one involved in politics, particularly penmanship.

It was Ben who asked first, for he had noticed the black hares identical to the flag flying outside. Mungan, Maon, and Macrath wore them in addition to the sky-blue bands on both forearms.

Mungan smiled, and glanced at his friend, "Ach, the least yeh could ha'e dun was inform yer friends on how we do things aroond here."

Ebs turned to his curious audience, "Here there's a lot more opposition in politics. In fact, to be to the bally point, it's a primitive system that hasn't changed since Bucko's lineage died. Nobody could find a decent replacement for the Bigbones kings. So there was a lot of suspicion, killing, and anarchy. That's when they formed the gangs."

At that one word, Ben's eyes gleamed, Raga groaned in exasperation, and Log a Log laughed as he thought of the Gousim shrews in comparison.

Jander spoke up in a voice of wonderment, "So you're saying you're all in _gangs_?" It seemed very difficult for the squirrel to imagine these old hares to be in gangs.

Mungan chuckled, "Aye, et's true, laddie. The gangs fight for control of the Highlands, an' et can be a right dirty game. Half the time, o' course, et's settled at the ballot box. But damnit, that Taskill loves power, an' 'e'd love tae keep et for as long as possible."

It made sense, but Thornback could not help but make a note in his mind that Mungan had said 'half the time'. How was it settled the other half of the time?

No sooner had he thought this when a hare from the door guard came downstairs, "Laird, Taskill's at the gates."

At once, the two eldest sons of Mungan growled curses under their breath.

Thornback remembered what Ebs had told him of Taskill, and he was already prejudiced before they went upstairs, down the hall, and out the door.

If it hadn't been for Ebs' strange appearance, Thornback would have pointed at Taskill and said that he was the strangest hare he had ever seen. Taskill was dressed in a long, patched overcoat that went down to his foot paws. Beneath that he wore a brown vest over a thin white shirt. In his belt were thrust, to Raga's horror, an assortment of knives and cleavers that were a mix between butcher's tools and carpenter's knives. Taskill had oiled the whiskers of his nose so that they formed a black moustache which curled on the very ends. To literally top off the appearance, a black top hat was on the hare's head, with holes for his long ears.

Taskill leered at Lt. Ebs, "Well, well, if it isn't the lawng-eared fool back to make trouble." The hare had a strange accent. Raga and Jander were both reminded strongly of Arly, the Cellar Keeper at Redwall.

Ebs, who was older than Taskill, tried to keep a civil tongue, "Aye, I bally well have, wot."

Taskill grimaced, but turned it into a mocking sneer, "At least you drawpped that mangy accent, but you always had it less than that fat leech beside you."

Mungan took little notice, but his older sons half-raised their fists in defence of their father. They did nothing, for Taskill was being escorted by a bruised Drostan and a round two score hares. All of them had purple armbands and a symbol of a red pike.

The shrews, who at this point numbered about sixty fighters, grouped together warily. Modsat especially found the tall, looming Taskill very chilling. However, Ben, his shillelagh down in a peaceful gesture, found that if it wasn't for the hare's menacing influence and position, he would have looked very comical. It was his personality that inspired warning and fear.

Taskill looked at the different creatures, grinning at the Gousim shrews, the tallest of whom barely reached his belt. He also raised an eyebrow at the cold dignity of Raga, the sardonic gaze of Ben, the lean, muscled body of Jander, and the five otters. It was Thornback that made him most wary, for the presence of a badger meant there would be a stirring among the hares.

He looked back to Ebs, "So, did seven seasons of exile clear your head, or are you as stubborn as before?"

Ebs smiled, "The King's Scroll will be found, Tassy." Clearly it was not a good idea to call him this, for some of the hares behind Taskill had wide eyes at the old hare's daring.

Taskill himself was staring very dangerously at Ebs. He took a few steps forward until he was within a foot of Lt. Ebs.

"You have a bad habit of crawsing the line, rabbit,' the last word was pronounced as though it was a filthy word, 'and if yore not ca'ful, I shall dispatch thee with mine own hand." With that, he spat at the hare's feet in insult, and walked away, leading his followers away with him.

Mungan shrugged, "Weel, now you've met the biggest opposition, eh?"

Raga shook his head, "Is that who the majority voted for?"

Maon shrugged, "Aye they did, in a way."

Ebs took a few steps forward, Mungan by his side, "Well, let's go to the archives then, wot!"

Log a Log decided to leave his shrews in the house, and Mungan pleasantly stated there was room for all. Skipper sent the otter siblings in to keep the shrews in check. Log a Log had recommended it.

The archives were in a building in the middle of the city, with a magnificent design on the outside. The building sported no flag, demonstrating its neutrality.

Log a Log glanced at the empty flagpole, "Are all the public places neutral?"

Ebs smiled, "Oh no, chap. Just because they don't announce their loyalty, doesn't mean they're neutral. If there's a fellow walking in whose name's been identified, then they're flippin' asked to leave, wot!"

However, the library was evidently friendly with Ebs and Mungan, for the librarian, a frail old hare, came hurriedly forward to greet them. Like Taskill, her accent surprised Thornback, Ben, Jander, and Raga. It was a reedy voice, with an accent that made her sound more educated, like a highborn lady.

"Mister Mungan, sir! Pleased to see you again. And Lieutenant Ebs as well! I never thought I'd live to see the day!"

Ebs turned to his companions, "This is Bethia, the Official Keeper of the Archives, and Chief Librarian, wot!"

Ben and Thornback gave greetings, while Bethia, so nervous at the sight of the raccoon, stuttered something about the sun.

Mungan tucked his hand inside his pockets and asked if they could discuss the King's Scroll.

Bethia sighed, "Oh, mister Mungan, the King's Scroll has been gone for so long there is almost no chance of seeing it again!"

Thornback spoke up, "But Lady Bethia, if you could at least fill us in with the details that are known, maybe we could search on our own."

Bethia thought it over, and shrugged, "Well, I guess there's no harm in telling you what is known already."

Instinctively, the group gathered round to hear the hare's story.

"It all started with the famous defeat of Ungatt Trunn the wildcat in his war against Salamandastron. Lord Brocktree the Badger Lord made a deal with one of his greatest allies, Bucko Bigbones the mountain hare. These two concocted an agreement that the Highlands would always be allies to Salamandastron in times of need. This pledge was written on a scroll, signed by both leaders, and those who witnessed it. The witnesses were Dotti, soon to be General of the Long Patrol; the other was a mountain hare named Bran.

'Anyway, Bucko Bigbones took ships from the conquered army, and took his hares back north, never to see Salamandastron again. They came to the Highlands, and set up a city, of which Bucko was King.

'Bucko was succeeded by his son, and then his son passed the throne on to his grandson. Now the grandson, named after his grandfather, was on the throne for only eight seasons when a great horde under the leadership of Vorsk Blackheart came to lay siege to the city. Bucko II knew that there was a chance they would all be killed, for a messenger he had sent to Salamandastron failed to get past the vermin lines. So he hid the King's Scroll elaborately, telling no one where it was. That done, he led his army in a battle that saw the Highlands' victory, but the death of Bucko II. Since he had left no heir, his relatives, barons and generals fought viciously for the throne. This began the age of the anarchy, which led to the age of the gangs. For many seasons there was a great argument between those who believed in the alliance with Salamandastron, and those who wanted to break away. There were also many other political views, and it resulted in a long period of strife.

Then a crude solution was found. A great variety of hares lived here, and still does, and the only way that safety was achieved was gangs. The logic behind this was that if you found more hares like you, then you joined them and were safer than when you were alone. This led to gang wars, and more violence, but it seemed to be controlled enough for folk to get on with their lives. However, the gangs fought viciously for control; so violence came and went with the seasons.

Eventually, we come to the present, with the separatists in power, and greedy for control. Taskill is the head of this gang, which calls itself the Highland Nativists. The reason for that name is that they wish to isolate from other creatures, to be left with their corrupt system. The biggest opposition is the Black Rabbits, of which Mister Mungan here is head. They believe in righting the wrongs of the past, reuniting with Salamandastron, and opening more to the world."

At this, she paused to sip some tea that Mungan had thoughtfully retrieved as the pot whistled. What Bethia had said was very eye-opening to what was going on, but Thornback was still confused, "What about the Scroll?"

Bethia shrugged, "The secret died with Bucko II, for he told no one where it was hidden. However, clues may be brought from the witnesses to the signing of the Scroll. Dotti, the maid who became the first Long Patrol Leader, had no husband, and her name died with her. The other witness was Bran, a distant cousin to Bucko and his closest friend. Bran married and had six children, all of them in personal friendship with Bucko and his family. When Bucko died, his son maintained his cousins' friendship, Bran passing away two weeks after Bucko.

Bran had told his children of the King's Scroll, and they knew that their father had witnessed the event. Out of Bran's descendants, only two married and produced children. One was a girl named Marion, and a boy named Airril.

'Marion married a prominent officer in the army, and it was no surprise that they spent little time together, though they did have one son named Adon. Her husband was eventually crippled by the battles against sea rats. He returned home to stay, and he reconciled with his wife and son. Marion was happy for the rest of her days, and when those had run out; she died within a few days of her husband. Adon went away to seek his fortunes elsewhere, and all record has been lost of him.

'Airril was an advisor to Bucko's son, and he was even godfather to Bucko II. He married a young widow, and together had four children: Allia, Alastor, Lydia, and Fergus.

Alastor fought in the famous battle that killed Bucko II. It was, indeed, he that slew Vorsk himself, though he was wounded grievously by the warlord. He would eventually adopt a false eye, a wooden leg, and a very eccentric reputation. Lydia married a farmer, though she bore no children. Her younger sister, Allia married an heir to the throne in the hope that they could claim the throne. Sadly, they were murdered in the years of anarchy.

The last child, Fergus, is the most curious of the children. He had been broken-hearted at the transformation of his brother and the death of his sister, so he fled into the mountains. Rumours persisted that he had died, and some went to see him. One group of youthful searchers never returned, invoking a deadly rumour of a monster in the high mountains.

All the while, the wars went on, Taskill came to power, and the Scroll has been hidden all this time."

Bethia, her story told, sat down amidst the silence, each creature thinking their own thoughts.

Finally, Thornback spoke up, "That one hare, Adon. You said he left the mountains to never be seen again. What if his descendents returned to look for the Scroll?"

Bethia shrugged, "If they have, young sir, then we know nothing of it. The descendents of Bran are still remembered, and the knowledge they hold could tip the scale in this conflict."

"In which case, they would either stay anonymous, or try to get followers,' Ben piped up.

Raga the Warriormouse spoke up, "What about Fergus? He fled into the mountains after his sister was killed. Did anyone find his corpse?"

Mungan shook his head, "Tae be honest, noo one wanted tae find him after the first group disappeared. Fergus became a child's nightmare, used by irritated mothers and fathers to get their nippers tae listen."

"And anyway, that happened a long, long, time ago. Even if he had lived, than he would already be long dead from bally, bally old age,' Ebs added.

Thornback was thinking hard, more puzzled than ever, "And Alastor? Did he ever have children?"

Maon grinned, "Oh, aye, all the prettiest maids were bluidy clamourin' fer a scarred, suspicious soldier like 'im." Macrath, who was scarred himself, gave his younger brother a grimace of offence.

Mungan sighed, "As my son said, Alastor was very repellin', and 'e never wanted a wife. He served in the army until he was killed in a sea rat raid."

So if there was a trail to the King's Scroll, where was it?


	18. Chapter 18

17

Adisa was becoming more and more of a beacon for sympathy. The Redwallers were still highly suspicious of him, but they felt that even he should not be treated this way. The other suspects were paroled and were free to go almost anywhere within the Abbey's massive walls. Adisa had not seen the outside of his prison since he had been put there.

Varrus seemed to avoid the subject whenever he was asked. He seemed fully decided on his actions, but some whispered of a very kind and gentle person held behind the bars of his door.

Arly was at the root of those whispers. He had taken a great liking for Adisa, and he felt bad that he was imprisoned in the way he was.

It was on a sunny morning that he was sitting at the breakfast table, talking to his friend Verso, a small and spunky mole.

"Listen, man, that guy's a decent un', you know? I just don't have a clue on why Father Varrus hates 'im."

Verso shrugged, and spoke through a mouthful of toast, "Burr, Oi doan't unnerstand noither, Arly. Did thurr civet mention summat to youse?"

Arly paused. He had frequently asked Adisa as of late what he knew of Varrus. Every time, the civet would suddenly grow cold, and he would state he did not wish to talk of him yet.

"I don' know, pal. It's as though he's waitin' for the right moment or something."

Verso smiled, and drank from his dandelion fizz, "Then 'e must have summat huge on thurr Father Abbott." The mole could be very tactless, and Arly suddenly wondered if he had picked the right creature to talk to. But he had already spoken of it with others, so it didn't matter much now.

He continued on, "Well I don' know what the hell he's plannin', but I'm gonna find out."

It was time to feed Adisa breakfast, so Arly volunteered. He took a loaf of bread still warm from the oven, a glass of milk, and some jam.

Up in Adisa's room, the civet gave his thanks as he ate his meal with relish, while Arly inhaled a tiny amount of the substance Adisa carried.

It was addicting. This was his third time already, and Adisa had duly warned him of getting hooked, but Arly loved it all the same.

He knew he should stay clean, however, so he only took a little amount. By the time Adisa was finished, Arly had already recovered from his smoke, with only a small headache. All the same, Adisa told the hedgehog that he would have to stop for a while until he was off the urge.

Arly spoke up then, "Hey, Adisa. You've been telling me that you're waiting for the right moment to tell everyone what you know of Abbott Varrus."

The civet nodded slowly, not saying anything.

Arly continued, "Well when is that time gonna be? I'm starting to wonder if it's anything at all."

The moment the hedgehog said those words, he feared Adisa would turn nasty, for he looked angry for the briefest moment, but to the hedgehog's surprise, Adisa then smiled in amusement.

"Answer this, friend. If I know nothing of Varrus, why then am I in this cell, and not paroled? Why does Varrus fear me?"Arly could not argue with that, "Well then, how about if I try and get you paroled? I know some who would want that."

"But why?" Adisa was bemused.

"'Cause it bothers them that you're in here, and everyone else concerned with Slade's murder are paroled to within the Abbey."

Adisa smiled again, but this was slightly less merry, "Could you please deliver a message to your Abbott, will you?"

Arly was surprised, "Well... okay, what is it?"

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Varrus walked in cold rapidity that his age allowed. He had heard the message from Arly, and had immediately insisted on going to Adisa's cell.

He now walked through the door to see the civet, seated comfortably as though expecting and waiting for the otter.

Varrus stared into the dark eyes facing him, wondering what was going through his mind.

The silence hung for a moment. Neither animal moved, as though in a tableau- any movement would break the scene.

Finally, Varrus broke the silence with a question, "You sent Alonzo with a message for me?"

Adisa nodded slowly, "Oh yes I did."

Varrus shuddered as he thought of it, "You can't be serious, can you?"

Adisa smiled, "Yes, I am. I will give you assistance on who the killer of Slade is, if you oblige me to my requests."

Varrus shuddered, "Requests?"

Adisa smiled, "How are you sleeping, Varrus?"

Varrus had been sleeping badly, with Slade and Adisa haunting his dreams. But he was not going to admit that to the civet, who would see it as a triumph.

Instead the otter waved a paw, "Never mind any of that. Am I to understand you wish to assist in the murder of Slade?"

Adisa nodded, "Correct. And in return, I wish to request certain little things."

Varrus shuddered, "It is those little things that bother me."

Adisa merely looked at him, "I would like to know what the autopsy revealed of Slade's death."

Varrus paused, remembering the gruesome details. He finally found a voice, "The body of Slade was found with a broken spine and a deep bite over the back of his neck. There was also a knife buried down his throat."Adisa frowned, perhaps in disgust, but this emotion was soon replaced with a look of satisfaction, "There is much in what you have just told me, Varrus."

Varrus raised his eyebrows, "Really? Is there method to butchery and savagery?"

Adisa gave a dangerous smile, "I will give you a hint on what those wounds mean, if you will converse on the past with me."

Varrus almost blanched. His past? What did this mean? Had the civet already spoken of it to others? No, he wouldn't have done that if he was asking Varrus to sit and talk of it.

Slowly, very reluctantly, he sat down on the floor.

Adisa gave him a look of reminiscence, "To think what my grandfather would have said had he lived to see this."

Varrus shuddered. So many memories...

_He watches them play. Three of them, with the dark stripes on their backs, their faces pointed, but smiles and laughter coming out of their mouths._

_He wants to join, but his father warned him of the demons, and the punishment he will get from his father's hand should he seek to talk to them..._

He came back to reality in a flash as Adisa lit a pipe in front of him. Varrus could only smell tobacco; nothing else added this time.

The civet leaned back, "I want to know why you did what you did, _ubhuti._" His voice had no friendliness, just suppressed bitterness. The last word he used was pronounced with great sarcasm.

Varrus stared at the civet. How in the name of all that was good in this world could he tell that to him? It was impossible; it went back so far in time that there was no short answer.

Adisa, sensing Varrus' thoughts, nodded solemnly, "Ah. So there is a very deep cut into history on this subject. I will simplify it for your benefit, then. Why don't you tell me your earliest memory?"

Varrus paused, not wanting to become a pawn in this civet's mind game. If he could see through this animal's intentions, there was a chance he could outwit the civet.

But looking into this creature's eyes, he could tell, for some reason that no lie could be told to his face. He knew that position well: he had spoken to Dibbuns countless times and had gotten the truth from them in a gentle voice.

He thought back, to his earliest memory. It was one he did not like to forget.

_He is a little pup, sitting in a shallow puddle, splashing._

_He suddenly hears loud voices. He looks in the direction of the voices, and he sees a number of strange animals approaching him in a sort of ritual._

_They wear beads, and a number of feathers._

_They stop at a large, flat stone. One comes forward, a knife in one hand._

_Two more come with a large bird in their paws. The bird struggles, calls out against the inevitable fate it will get._

_He stares, intrigued, but also terrified at what he does not entirely know what will happen next._

_They sing as the bird is slaughtered by the shaman, who spreads her arms to the sky, and calls out in a strange tongue. The others are calling out words he cannot understand...perhaps they are names..._

_He is rooted to the spot with terror. He cannot imagine the casual killing of another animal. Sacrifice... that was the word for it... sacrifice to their ancestors, they called it... he knew better than that..._

He stopped at that. He had forgotten Adisa was even in the room with him. The civet's eyes were glowing strangely. It was not a glow of delight, nor one of rage. It was a glow that Varrus could not place.

Finally, the civet spoke, "You say that Slade had a broken spine?"

The old otter, recovering from his reminiscence, nodded impatiently.

Adisa closed his eyes, and remained still for a while.

Varrus was wondering if Adisa would say anything, but then the civet spoke, "The broken spine...it's strange. The way I see it, it is describing something else that is broken. It could be a promise, an individual, a song, or a people. Anything, really.' He gave a questioning look at Varrus, 'What do you think it is?"

Varrus gave Adisa a cold stare, "You can think of better than that."

Adisa nodded, "I could.' He paused, perhaps in thought, 'Where was the spine broken?"

Varrus did not know the technical terms of anatomy, so he described the position on the body, "It was in the lower area, above his hind legs."

Adisa smiled, still in thought. Then he mused out loud to himself, "Lumbar...lumbar...ah! Ha ha, of course, and so it is only logical if...yes."

Varrus was getting annoyed with Adisa; he was sure that the civet was toying with him.

Finally, the civet spoke to him, "The area of the Lumbar spine is divided usually into four, correct?"

"So, you're saying that there is a connection to the number four?' Varrus jumped ahead.

Adisa nodded, "Correct, Varrus. The only thing is that how the number four connects. Fortunately, I have an idea for you. The number four, in some old languages, is pronounced the same as the word for death."

Varrus shuddered.

Adisa smiled an unpleasant smile, "This creature has lost someone, or more than one, and they connect you and Slade with it."

Varrus spoke up, "What if Slade is merely a scapegoat? Could it just be a convenient message for me?"

Adisa suppressed a chuckle, "You're jumping too far for me, Varrus. I take a much slower pace."

Varrus took this that Adisa was done talking. He got up and turned to leave.

Adisa called him back, "I would like to have rights to a parole."

Varrus smiled, "One favour at a time. That is your pace, is it not?"

He left the room, leaving Adisa in the darkness.

The old otter felt as though he had won a round, but the memory he had brought from the depths of his conscience bothered him. It made him admit a past he had long wished to hide from the world, from himself.

How far was this going to go?


	19. Chapter 19

18

Ætharr stared at the walls of Brocovar. They reared up into the air, at least twenty feet or more. The stone was a faded grey, and there was ivy spreading in some places.

The Ealdor in Exile turned his gaze upon the gateway. There was a bastion built around it, and he thought he could see the guards' helmets above the battlements.

Behind and around Ætharr, the leaders of the army were gathered. The army itself was well hidden so that no suspicion was aroused in the fortress.

Silently, he went over the plan. Ruma, the captain who had temporarily replaced Coldbane, would lead a division of the toughest warriors in an attack on the south wall. While that was going on, Küchulår would surely have opened the gate, allowing Ætharr, Ædall, and Judos to lead a troop of soldiers into the fortress as a vanguard. Blackback would follow with Ervaring, and they would storm the citadel. Finally, Blackaxe would storm the east wall with another platoon under his command. The rest of the army was a reserve, under the command of Aletorix, Ibos, and Ferric. Ibos was ever resentful at being left out of the fighting, but could not argue. Ætharr did not want to risk Ibos' life, for he had sworn that he would give up his own life if Ibos died.

Everyone was ready. The commanders were with their troops, and the day looked to be a good one.

All waited on the signal; the gates had to be opened before anything could happen.

The wait was agonizing, but it was better to wait than be killed for no reason. So the soldiers curbed their nerves and waited.

Finally, they heard the sound of a scuffle, but the door did not open.

Rojo, the marten lieutenant who served Ætharr, was in charge of the remnants of the group that had been with Ætharr in the beginning of the war. It was a motley crew of Jeri, Vireo, and Calador. Normally, Calador consisted only of weasels, but Ætharr wanted to keep them, for they were ever loyal to him.

Rojo now looked at his lord, "What's happening?"

Ætharr could not answer; he wanted to know just as badly as Rojo.

All of a sudden, a group of bloodied soldiers burst through the gates. They took a weary defensive position as one screamed out shrilly,

"Küchulår's dead! We're all dying! Get in quick afore we're al-"

An arrow from within cut him off.

"Go! Go! What are you waiting for?" Ætharr came alive, and began pelting towards the gate, the death of the old polecat bringing tears to his eyes.

In a flash, Ædall and Judos raced forwards, followed by Rojo, and the rest of the vanguard.

Ruma stood up, and bellowed to his division, "After me!" Beside the disfigured rat, a ferret fell forward with an arrow in his brain, but the rest stood up.

Blackaxe led his platoon forward, shields held above them. Some of the soldiers carried long ladders towards the wall.

All the time, arrows and slings were sent down from the walls of Brocovar. Vermin fell, dead or wounded. The rest charged forward.

Ætharr and his following reached the gateway. Only five of Küchulår's unit were still alive, his own brother one of them. Kazahley resembled his older brother in every way, and even now he was crying over the death of Küchulår.

Judos had the sword of Martin in his paws. The blade shone alongside the axes of Ædall and Ætharr.

The remaining Hunan soldiers attached themselves to the advance party. They charged forward.

All of a sudden, Ætharr was hit with an arrow. All seemed to slow down. The young weasel could see his cousin running ahead of him to engage the enemy. Judos was there too, as were the rest.

Reality kicked back into him, and he took his long axe and hand-axe in his paws.

A snarling polecat attacked him with a mace. Blocking it, Ætharr dispatched him with a blow to the skull. Whipping to his right, he swiftly buried his hand-axe into a foebeast, hurled a throwing hatchet into a rat's face, drew his hand-axe out of the body, and broke a shield with his long axe.

Beside him, Judos whirled the sword of Martin. He had trained vigorously in the short time he had been given, but he was no expert fighter. Still, the Hunan warriors feared the glowing sword that was already spattered in their comrades' blood.

On the other end of the small skirmish, Ædall tore an arrow out of his shoulder with his teeth. He bulled forward, his double-sided axe crushing foes that stood in his way.

The battle turned in the favour of the allies, even more so when Blackback and Ervaring charged forward. The black ferret swung a deadly scimitar, and his savage face caused his foes to give him a wide berth. Ervaring held a long pike, and guided a group of martens to the wall, where Blackaxe had made a foothold on the wall.

On the other side, Ruma was being pushed back with heavy loss. The rat had quickly realised that this was the most heavily defended part of the fortress, but he knew he could not pull back.

The reserve forces had marched forward, so all viewed the fight. Ibos viewed the south wall especially.

Suddenly, a well-aimed arrow was shot, and it hit Ruma in the open mouth, killing him. Three other arrows hit his gut.

His troops lost their nerve, and began to run, many dying with shafts in their back.

Ibos could not stand it. He turned to Brownhide, his lieutenant, "We're taking that wall!"

Aletorix was astonished, but could not stop the young ferret lead seventy Vireos to the south wall.

With astonishing speed, Ibos and Brownhide scaled the abandoned ladders. Ferret and stoat were followed by the rest.

Ibos screamed a war cry as he cut down two vermin with his sabre. Brownhide plunged a spear into a rat's midriff, and cut a fox's throat with his long knife.

The counterattack took many casualties. Twenty fell immediately, but nothing would stop Ibos now. He was learning the trade of battle, damn the oath Ætharr took! He had lain idle the whole war, watching others do his fighting for him. He just wanted to be useful in battle. Just once.

And this was his hour. Ibos laughed out loud as he sent a ferret squealing over the wall. All of a sudden, a knife from a foebeast plunged into his back. While it did not hit anything vital, it was still a bad wound. Screaming in pain, Ibos took off the creature's head.

By now, Ervaring and Blackback had attacked the citadel, and Blackaxe was raising his banner on the east wall. Ætharr was fighting his way up the wall, Judos at his side.

Ibos waved his sword at Ætharr in a mock salute, laughed despite his wound, and engaged another enemy.

Ætharr roared in triumph, not just at Ibos' success, but also at the fact that the fortress was theirs. They had taken all but the citadel, and hopefully that was coming along.

He sent a fox reeling away with a blow from his handle, and linked his forces with the remnants of Ibos' attack.

Ibos and Brownhide had stopped at south-east corner of the wall. Both were out of breath, and both were wounded.

Ibos sighed deeply, and turned to Brownhide, "You're a captain now. Ruma would have chosen you no doubt."

Brownhide swelled with pride. He was only three seasons older than his lord, and the promotion was received with a boost of pride.

Ætharr loped over, and clapped a paw on Ibos' shoulder, "You did well today, lord.' Ibos was surprised at the mention of the last word, 'and I also suggest you take care of that wound."

Ibos suddenly felt very aware of how close he had come to being killed. He shivered, and hurried off to staunch the flow of blood.

Judos too, was shivering. He remembered before the battle, when his paws had been trembling like jelly. He was terrified as he kept pace with Rojo and Ædall. The otter had shuddered when he slew, but he had roared his battle-roar all the same.

Ætharr had told him that to be a warrior was to drown your fears. Judos had doubted that he was capable of it, but now, he admitted to himself that he was a fighter.

However, even he knew that he needed far more training. Many times during the battle, Rojo had swung his mace and chain to save his life, or Ætharr had thrown a hatchet, or someone behind him had protected his back. Although he had gained the experience, there was still some training to do.

Suddenly, howls of victory sounded the air. Turning around, all the soldiers watched as Blackback and Ervaring hurried backwards in a rearguard formation, with much loss in their ranks.

The citadel still stood, and as long as it stood, the fighting was not yet done.

"" "" "" ""

Ætharr withdrew his forces out of range of the citadel's archers and slingers. There were many dead and wounded, and they were quickly taken care of as the moment could allow.

The leaders of the army quickly organised stage two. Kazahley now stood for Küchulår as leader of the Hunan forces. It was discovered that some of Küchulår's soldiers had hidden from the rout, and then rallied at the turn. Fifty-nine Hunan warriors were now Kazahley's command, plus another sixty of the defenders taken prisoner. These had been on the outskirts of Oorlog's alliance, and they willingly surrendered to swear fealty to Kazahley.

A plan was soon decided on. The forces of the army that had been the reserve now served as the attacking force on the citadel.

It would be a deadly siege. The citadel stood fifteen feet higher than the walls, and the battlements were lined with fresh defenders.

Ætharr stated that he and Blackaxe would head the assault. Ibos had protested, but he had lost much blood, and was in no condition to fight.

There were also others who could not fight. Blackback had taken an arrow in his lower chest, and thought it had been removed without trouble, he was in no condition to fight. Kazahley's troops were wearied, and they had suffered the most of all, so they were excused.

Ferric was put in charge of keeping the archers busy with their own missiles and the ladders left over from the assault.

Ætharr and Blackaxe would break through the doors to the citadel, and begin to fight their way up. With them would be Ædall, Horal, Judos, Rojo, Brownhide, and Snauw, who was one of Blackaxe's three captains, the others being Redjaw and Jager. Jager would command the ladders, while Redjaw had already been sent ahead with Jinn to scout the surrounding land for extra food.

The assault promised to be bloody. The fighters knew it, but they swallowed their fears and braced themselves to kill or be killed. They were, after all, soldiers.

Iola and Rosheen stated that they wanted to fight. Everyone was stunned, for they had no idea what to say of it. There was no stopping Iola, for she was already strapping on a pair of iron claws that she wore like brass knuckles over her own claws.

However, Ætharr took Rosheen aside and had begged her not come.

"Oh, so I'm supposed to wait outside while you do the killing?' she asked scornfully. Then, in a gentle voice, she said, 'Ætharr, the Falcarragh are born fighters, male and female. If you're going to fight, then I want to be there."

Ætharr admitted defeat. He could do nothing at all to change her mind, so he had asked her what weapon she felt best accustomed to.

So it was that Rosheen, armed with a long spear and a short sword, would defend Ætharr's back.

The council was done. All was decided, and the siege would begin.

It began in earnest very quickly. Ferric organized the archers to fire in almost continuous volleys, while Jager's troops immediately began to scale the walls.

In a _testudo_ formation, the forces headed by Ætharr and Blackaxe marched forward through the arrows from above.

They had gotten a battering ram, and in the hands of the strongest martens, it crashed into the planks of the door.

However, as the battle had been commencing, the defenders of the citadel had been preparing for the imminent siege. The doors were reinforced from behind, and doubtless there were soldiers behind the doors.

Blackaxe bellowed encouragement to his martens, and he ordered the ranks behind to cover the battering ram crew with their shields.

Up on the battlements, the archers fired ceaselessly, and Jager lost many brave fighters to take the wall. Despite the help that Ferric's archers gave to the assault, there were still casualties.

Jager himself was stuck. In front of him was a dead Calador weasel, which protected him from arrows, but it also prevented him from advancing. He cursed as he saw others fall beside him. Soon, there were dozens of vermin standing stock still, shields over their heads. There was a deadly standstill that the defenders would win unless Blackaxe and Ætharr broke through.

Those two were breaking through steadily enough. The ram was proving to be very effective in the paws of the rotating marten crews.

Soon, many deep cracks appeared, whereupon Ætharr and Ædall stepped forward with their axes.

The two of them went at it like butchers against a carcass. The blades of their axes flew through the air, crunching into the wood.

Ætharr nodded to Rosheen and a group of pikebeasts behind him and his cousin. Judos had sheathed the sword of Martin, and carried a shorter sword like the one Rosheen had.

The door slowly began to split open in the middle. Ætharr and Ædall swiftly ducked at the sight of the warriors behind the door. This gave Rosheen and the company room to stab their pikes forward into snarling faces.

This sudden attack threw the guards off, and they backed away to avoid the weapons.

The pikes cheered, and they advanced to open the door completely.

No sooner had the doors begun to creak open then a hail of arrows slew the pikebeasts except for Rosheen and three others.

Blackaxe bellowed his rage against the Hunan, and stormed forward into the citadel. His massive axe slew three archers in one swing, causing the others to drop their bows and draw hand weapons.

With his slightly smaller hand axe, Ætharr matched the marten's blows. The gateway was very narrow, leading to an open courtyard. There were many vermin there, charging forward to drive this assault back.

Rosheen was right behind Ætharr, sending her pike against anyone who threatened him.

Judos was fighting for his life. He waved his short sword wildly, trying to defend himself as best he could. Beside him, the newly made Captain Brownhide was fighting with a snarl on his face.

So fierce was the attack of the allies that they pushed forward into the courtyard. The archers did not shoot down for fear of hitting their own comrades, and also because Jager had heard the doors burst open.

Ripping away the body that stopped him, Jager shouted to attack. Arrows thudded into his shield as he climbed, but his lord was inside, and such was his dedication that he swallowed all fears and continued to climb.

Others were encouraged by the marten, and they too began to climb.

Secretly, Jager felt a chill grow into fear again. He had no certainties where he was going: he could feel arrowheads thumping into his shield, many protruding through the wood. He could die, or be crippled: a thousand things could happen, but he was a soldier, and he climbed on to do battle.

He saw the battlements were only a few steps away. He climbed faster, finally launching himself over without even thinking of it. He was in the killing mood: he had endured fear and death, and now he unleashed it upon the defenders.

Others came over. Some were sent back down, but they continued to climb, and fight. The courage of those creatures was amazing, because now the real fight began.

Jager stood back to back with a Calador weasel, his shield like a pincushion. Arrows continued to thump into it, but at increasingly rare intervals, for the archers were drawing steel to fight in close quarters.

Jager roared his rage. He had been raised with hatred for the Hunan bred into him like an instinct. He had made little exceptions for those with Küchulår and his brother, but he hated the Hunan.

The fight turned bloody, but the attackers gained reinforcements from Ferric's archers. Ferric himself came over like a god, his armour shining, and his sword red in a matter of seconds.

Down below, Blackaxe was bellowing as he hacked at the Hunan as though they were mere brambles. Ætharr and Rojo were in the thick of the fighting on either side of the giant marten, hand axe and mace and chain sticky with their enemies' blood.

Behind Ætharr, Rosheen shrieked as she thrust forward over the top of her lover's head. A group of Caladors had made a protective guard around her, fighting fiercely.

Iola keened her love for battle as she made grotesque wounds with her iron claws, taking ears as collective trophies.

Judos was terrified: he was in the middle of a maelstrom of death. However, he turned his fear into rage as he swung his blades, having pulled out the sword of Martin. He thought of his Abbey history, about the Taggerung, the otter that had grown up among vermin. He ended up wielding the sword, and now it was Judos who fought with the blade, this time among vermin.

They pressed forward, fighting like deathless spirits. Many had already fallen, and they were suddenly in danger of becoming surrounded.

Ætharr came up beside Blackaxe, "We can't last forever this way! We need to pull back into the front corridor! We'll hem them in!"

Blackaxe cut a ferret in two, "If we do that, they'll rally and drive us completely out. We need reinforcements!"

Even as they spoke of sending out a messenger, a platoon of foebeasts cunningly cut off their retreat.


	20. Chapter 20

19

Judos turned to see the allies' retreat gone, replaced by more fighting. Now the allies were in deep trouble.

Beside Judos, Rojo went down with a scream of pain. A spear had taken his left eye. Without thinking, Judos beheaded the offending creature.

At his feet, Rojo moaned and got up. Only his eye was damaged, but he needed a doctor.

The otter grabbed the marten, "Come with me!"

Rojo nodded, and yelled towards five soldiers to accompany them.

Together, the seven animals charged towards the doorway hacking madly at the guards. It became a bloody fight, especially when they found themselves surrounded.

It ended when Judos cut down three polecats in front of him and broke past them. Rojo and one other followed, the other three survivors headed off, and killed slowly in front of the main force.

Judos shivered as he listened to the screams. He needed to save those that could be saved, including the one-eyed Rojo behind him.

They burst out into the sunlight. Groups of vermin stared in surprise, thinking that they were the forerunners of a defeat.

Judos commanded the scene, "A doctor! Bring Lieutenant Rojo to a doctor!"

Rojo was led away by three Caladors. Aletorix, Ervaring and Kazahley came up, looking worried, "What is it?"

"We need reinforcements-now!" Judos was urgent to get back to the fight.

The leaders needed no second bidding. They each took sixty of their forces, and followed Judos back into the doorway.

They burst back into the skirmish like a thunderclap. The soldiers in the citadel had been fighting for a long time, while these reinforcements were fresh for the most part.

Blackaxe lifted his axe and bellowed his war-cry. Ætharr merely smiled.

Aletorix immediately battered aside a rat with his shield. Kazahley howled vengeance for his brother as his troops slew the enemy, some of whom had been their friends only minutes ago. Ervaring led large martens into the thickest of the battle.

The tide turned, especially as the fight on the battlements was won. Jager and Ferric came at the moment the defenders broke. Some surrendered to Kazahley's troops, but most were swept in the blood-crazed vengeance that swept the allies. They had fought hard, seen many friends fall, and now they cut down these foes and howled their need for slaughter.

Eventually, the roar died down, to be replaced by cheers. The allies had won a hard battle side by side, each one of them having given their part in the victory.

The dead and wounded were cleared away, and many funerals were done. The losses of Küchulår and Ruma were especially sad, for the two of them had died doing their duty in the war as leaders, and for every fifty soldiers, only a few were good leaders.

Luckily, Brownhide and Kazahley were good replacements, and their troops were loyal.

The siege was over, so now was the time to muster strength, for many lives had been lost in the battle. Ibos sent a messenger to his father, begging for reinforcements if they could be spared. Blackaxe assured the Council that more martens would come once they heard of the great victory at Brocovar, while Kazahley's strength increased by another forty-seven Hunan prisoners-turned soldiers.

Ætharr was worried that the theigns of Calador would not send troops for fear of the Millar bands roaming the countryside. Nevertheless, he sent a messenger to find Jinn, and inform his agents in Calador that they needed reinforcements.

The story of the siege spread quickly, until many a cooking fire was incomplete without the story of how Ibos scaled the walls with his loyal captain and made the river run red, or the brave assault of Blackaxe and Ætharr, or Judos leading the reinforcements just in the nick of time, or the gallant sacrifice of Küchulår.

A feast was held two nights later, and Brocovar was filled with drunken animals cheering and laughing.

Rosheen and Ætharr took one of the upper rooms in the citadel for themselves. The guards within that hall gave knowing smiles. Both had fought together in the war, and now they could be happy that both survived.

Judos went with Ædall to the feast, where the weasel became roaring drunk, along with others. Judos did not drink, for he had no taste for ale yet.

At one point, when Ædall was slowly coming towards the tired stage of his drunken state, he came to sit by Judos, a tear in his eyes.

"So where's Ætharr, eh?" The weasel put an arm around the otter.

Judos did not flinch, "He's up in the citadel with Rosheen."

"Right! 'E's spending his time with 'er, eh? An' where does that leave you and me, mate?"

Judos was surprised at these words. Ædall was always there for his cousin. Was he now speaking against him?

The weasel continued on, "You n' me, mate. We should find some girls for the night. Come on, we'll find someone."

The otter sighed with relief. Ædall was hopelessly drunk, nothing more.

He laughed suddenly, and he shoved Ædall to the side, "Move aside, you great heap! You stink like a shit-pit!"

The weasel roared in laughter, "Shit-pit! You can go _jump_ in the shit-pit, scurvy worm!"

They laughed, unaware that above them, Ætharr and Rosheen lay close together, listening to the faint noise below them.

Rosheen smiled to herself, "You knew I'd follow you tae battle, didn't you"

Ætharr kissed her ear, "Who can stop a Falcarragh?"

Rosheen laughed, and then said, "You know, Ætharr, I could try to get the Falcarragh into this war on your side if you want. They're desperate for land, and the Hunan lands are famously rich. They'd gladly help out, so they would."

Ætharr smiled sourly, "Aye, and they'd gladly turn on me too. They're unpredictably wild, Rosheen. Even if your father is a famous fighter among them, they might not want to fight in a war."

Rosheen was silent for a moment, then spoke, "There's no harm in trying, is there?"

Ætharr shrugged, "No there isn't."

Below them, a hopelessly inebriated weasel danced round and round with a laughing otter. Judos had at last taken a drink, and now he clasped paws with Ædall and they made good dancing partners. Soldiers catcalled and jeered, while above the courtyard, lovers lay together for this brief moment of passion, as such a horrid siege is usually succeeded by.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

After a long day of combing ancient texts in strange languages and incomprehensible writers, Thornback was completely exhausted. The main group had left long before, but he was intrigued by the King's Scroll, and he wanted to find it and end the regime of the Nativists.

It was as though Ebs' determination had rubbed off on him tenfold. He had detested Taskill from the moment he had spat at Ebs, and his arrogance in power made him all the more unlikeable.

Maon had stayed with him, for Thornback could not read the ancient texts. The hare was a cheerful companion and they had much to talk about.

Maon was interested in Salamandastron, "Es het true that badger must rule the moontain to make the system complete?"

Thornback nodded, "Ancient law says that badger lords are drawn to the mountain to rule it. Hares are destined to serve them."

Maon was intrigued, but still puzzled at the thought of the bond of servitude a Salamandastron hare had to endure. But the condition the hares in the Highlands lived was very archaic compared to Salamandastron.

Maon absent-mindedly picked up a piece of paper, "P'raps you could take power from the hares? Es that why you came?"

Thornback was astonished at the question, even more at the calm expression of the mountain hare. He shook his head almost automatically, "No, of course not. I came to find the King's Scroll."

"So the alliance es renewed. A very worthy cause, but finding the bluidy thing won't solve all oor problems. We need something else, something more influencing to the hares.' He looked squarely at Thornback, 'We need an absolute leader."

Thornback understood it completely. Present the King's Scroll, and Taskill could quickly be rid of the evidence, but a leader with most of the hares behind him could take out the Nativists, and restore proper order to this community.

But where was such a leader? Bucko's lineage had died with his grandson...At least, it had died out with Alastor, Fergus, Lydia, and Allia. Alastor, Lydia, and Allia had all died childless. Fergus had disappeared in the mountains.

But had he died?

An idea hit Thornback so hard he cried out as though in physical pain.

Maon stared in surprise as Thornback began to talk,

"Listen, Maon. Fergus fled into the mountains, and was never seen again. A group of young hares went looking for him and they too disappeared. Folk whispered tales of horror, but was there any, really? What if they found Fergus alive and well, and they dwelt in the mountains ever since? There's food there, and I suppose someone could go down at night to steal something if it was necessary. Then they multiplied, and generations went on and on in isolation! So Bucko's line could still be there! If we could persuade Fergus' descendents to reclaim their throne, then Taskill would be finished!" The badger grew more and more excited as he spoke on.

Maon thought of it, and smiled, "Aye! Et's greatly possible. We could find out for ourselves an' take a visit up there."

The two of them made a bound for the doors, bursting out to see a moon rising in the blue-black sky.

Drostan stood at the foot of the archive building steps. He had with him twenty-five mean-looking hares.

Thornback and Maon were completely surprised. Behind them, the doors were shut by two more hares.

They were suddenly surrounded in the square that the building opened up to.

Drostan fingered a wicked hook and chain, "Et's aboot time we taught ye bastards a lessoon. When they find you two, they'll think twice afore they challenge us again."

Thornback hefted his spear, while Maon pulled out his hatchet, but both knew they could not last long.

Drostan approached them, his hook swinging, followed by the others.

"Ah've long wanted yoor death, Maon. An' as for you,' he spat full into the badger's face, 'Ah'll send ye back to yoor moontain in pieces!"

Suddenly, a roar sounded from behind the hares' circle. Before anyone moved, a long arrow transfixed itself into a big-looking hare's eye.

Shane, Skipper, Talia, and Jander bounded forward, weapons ready. Ebs came forward too, already launching another shaft.

The hares turned to meet this assault, but then another cry sounded. Ben led Log a Log and twenty shrews forward.

Ben swung his shillelagh, dislocating a hare's shoulder, "Break on through to the other side,' he yelled at Maon and Thornback in an almost singsong voice, 'Break on through to the other side! Break on through! Break on through!"

Maon and Thornback attacked the other side of the ring, slaying three instantly.

Drostan saw his chance and swung his hook at Maon. It missed his head by mere centimetres. Drawing back, he heard a yell.

"Give my greetings to your father!"

Ebs sent an arrow that struck the hulking hare in his throat. Drostan's last words were a gurgling whimper.

It ended the fight. The hares with Drostan fled into the darkness. Ben, who had killed no one in the fight, hummed a light tune until he saw what Ebs had done.

Maon stared at the body of Drostan, and then at Ebs. His eyes were bleak and his face was grim, "Ach, sir, we've started something dreadful on this night."


	21. Chapter 21

20

Abbott Varrus asked for a history on every one of the suspects. However, it was much harder said than done, for there were no written documents on them. Elial the old fox, who had recovered from his injury, gave a detailed history of gruesome deeds that he done as a youth. It sickened Varrus at the spite this old creature bore.

Hal Copland gave an account of many seasons as a farmer. Before that he had been in a family of seven youngsters. Then, after a raid of cruel vermin, he was orphaned and had to look after his three sisters. His story was one of hard labour every day, and a tragic past. Varrus took note to it, but failed to see any connection to Slade, for Hal had never been to Redwall before, according to him.

Hella, Skipper's lady friend, gave a history full of blanks, for according to her, she did not remember much. Otters could sometimes be very unhelpful through their character.

The bank voles were also unhelpful in their histories, but it was out of defiance that they did not talk.

The strange black squirrel, who was named Elfwin, gave a very strange past. It was one of much bitterness and betrayal. She had been a wanderer for many seasons after her heartless father drove her to it. The father had originally been raised in Redwall, so that gave her a motive to attack a Redwaller, and a squirrel at that. To make it more interesting, she had been a mercenary, so she knew how to kill a creature.

Varrus was leaning towards Elfwin as the murderess, but he was still confused. Why would Elfwin kill Slade of all people? He had done her no harm, had he not?

He asked her the question, but she had shut her mouth and had not said anything.

Now Varrus returned to Adisa, desperate for another clue. He wanted to know who it was, for it was extremely irritating to interrogate that group of suspects.

Walking past the guards, Varrus opened the door and closed it behind him.

Adisa looked up, stared blankly for only the shortest moment, and shook his head, "Varrus, after only a day you are back to play this game."

Varrus glared at him, and spoke up, "I need another clue to this puzzle."

Adisa smiled, "Who do you think it is?"

Varrus paused, and then said, "Elfwin."

"The squirrel?' Adisa was somewhat amused, 'I don't even know why she was here at Redwall Abbey in the first place."

"She had a tooth that needed to be pulled,' Varrus answered, glad that he knew something the civet didn't, 'It was infected. Plus she wanted to stay for the night."

Adisa thought about it, and smiled, "This will definitely be worth the parole, won't it, Varrus?"

The old otter grimaced, "Just help me here."

Adisa thought about it again. Finally, he spoke, "Slade was bitten on the back of his neck?"

Varrus nodded, "It was more at the base of the neck."

"So, in the back as well?"

Varrus nodded again, "I suppose, yes."

Adisa began to chuckle, "Oh that is too easy! Are you certain this was incomprehensible for you?"

Varrus fumed inwardly, insulted by the civet's scorn.

Adisa tossed his head, "The stab in the back! Only they used a bite. Perhaps to show that it was a much more savage betrayal than any could have imagined."

Varrus was suddenly consumed by revelation. Elfwin had had a sore tooth, and Slade had been bitten in the back of the neck. A betrayal that was more savage than could be imagined... the betrayal of the parent against their own child. Elfwin had been despised and evicted by her father. All that Varrus needed now was the reason of why he and Slade were targeted by her.

He said nothing to Adisa. He wanted to keep this to himself for once. He hated being manipulated by this civet.

Adisa got up, and gave an ironic bow, "I would thank you for the parole, but we both know why I would not do such a thing." He walked out, as the guards had heard his voice, and assumed Varrus had allowed it.

Varrus, in question, was bowled over in fear of the past.

Another memory swam up from the depths...

_He is a young child, spying on them. Father and Mother forbid it, but he is driven by fear and curiosity. Besides, his schoolmaster may be interested in it, for he has a great suspicion of their weird and dark ways._

_He does it today, because he hears drumming. He almost did not hear it, for the drumming was soft._

_He approaches a tent set as a spiralled coil. Inside are several of the creatures, drumming and whispering softly. He does not know the words, but he has an idea that they are kind words._

_A female is in labour. Her baby comes, and she tries not to scream in order not to disturb the birthing ritual._

_He stares at the crying little babe, disgusted._

_They are ugly and despicable from the moment they enter the world._

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Roaveen was glad of the progress that the recruits had made. They were trying their best to improve, for he had shown them their reward.

The wooden swords were unbearably heavy to Leaflock and some of the others, and as they practiced, they felt their arms wear down through the day.

But after a while, some of the older ones commented that they were feeling it become easier. Roaveen did not know if that were true, or if they were stating that to boost the confidence of others, but either way, he approved.

Korari would often practice alongside them, for he too was training as a warrior. He would strain as he used the wooden gladium, but his character helped to make it more fun for those hares around him. He seemed to know every one of their names, and his words of encouragement were never absent.

Roaveen was aware of the influence that Korari commanded, and he did not like it. He had always enjoyed having his younger brother beneath him. In a way he still was, but he was inadvertently challenging him. At least, he thought it was inadvertently.

It so happened that Colonel Seahawk and Major Jackers were observing the hares as they trained.

"Those hares are getting along better than either of us thought when it bally well began, eh wot!"

Seahawk nodded, "Aye, old lad, so they are. Still, it's good to be wrong sometimes, wot."

"We were wrong, yes, but only partly, old bean. It ain't just Lord Roaveen bringing along the trainin'."

Jackers had brought up a point that was bothering Roaveen. He felt that his brother was supplanting him. As an older brother, Roaveen went wild at the thought of such an idea. As a commander, he felt the challenge, and wished to face it.

Seahawk looked at his old friend, his eyebrows raised at the implied message.

"Now there, major, are you implying that Roaveen needs 'is young brother to raise a regiment?"

Jackers shrugged, "It's flippin' true, Seahawk!"

Seahawk turned to look at the Mountain Regiment, "That Korari is a very talented badger. Roaveen has good potential, but that badger's just not right for the job. Too reckless, or a big temper, mayhaps: but I do wish that Thornback was still here. Korari doesn't stand a chance from his brother without Thorn."

"Fair enough. But at least there ain't no bally injuries on Kor's face, wot. Still, I miss Thornback as much as you, Seahawk."

Seahawk chuckled to himself, "You know, Jackers, in all the seasons of war, all the seasons of rising one step ahead of you, all the seasons of maintaining the officer ranks, you have never called me 'sah'."

Jackers smiled, reminiscing over the past, "The bally good old days."

Seahawk clapped a paw on Jackers' shoulder, "Come on, let's have a cup of tea in the mess hall! We'll play a nice game of chess while we're at it."

Jackers leaned back, "In all the seasons of war, all the seasons of knowing one another, all the flippin' seasons of playing games together, you have never realised how much I bally hate chess."

Seahawk grinned a grin that no one but Jackers could put on his face, "Aye, but it doesn't stop you playing, Jackers. You just truly want to bally beat me once before you die."

Jackers smiled fondly at his friend, and the two of them walked into the mountain.

**The following chapter begins** THREE WEEKS LATER


	22. Chapter 22

21

The first reinforcements arrived in the form of a hundred and twelve new martens, all fired up by the sudden victory at Brocovar. Many more came over the days, until Blackaxe commanded a full complement of nine hundred of the Jeri clan. Some were young martens that wanted to be caught up in the glory of it all, while others were fierce, full-grown males that came to avenge many a grievance against the Hunan.

Kazahley commanded a company of about one hundred and sixty Hunan fighters that had little scruples in fighting their own countrymen. They knew which side would win, and were more than willing to gain rewards for their loyalty.

Ibos had sent word to his father of his deeds and of Brownhide's promotion. It was found that Icepaw had been promoted as Coldbane's replacement, so Brownhide was to be appointed the land that Nero was to gain from the Millar clan. Along with this decree, he had sent another five hundred Vireo warriors, stating that this was the last reinforcements he could afford. No one minded, for all of the new Vireo troops were ready to fight.

Ætharr had waited, despairing for the outcome. He knew that Ælfer would be making it difficult for the theigns to send help. He also knew that some of the theigns had doubt in their futures with him.

The results surpassed his hopes. Jinn, who had long been out on scouting with Redjaw, marched in one day at the head of six hundred Calador weasels. All were unwavering in their loyalty towards the Ealdor in Exile.

It was found that Ulric had combed the territory of Æđelstan and Eadwig for the loyal weasels. Many had answered the call, until four hundred of the fyrd marched from their homes. Ulric also contributed two hundred of Gæruff's old soldiers. Ætharr was feeling very grateful to Ulric for all he was doing.

This meant that there were nine hundred Jeri, one hundred sixty Hunan, seven hundred ninety Vireo, and nine hundred Calador, plus the forty beasts that formed the group that had marched with Ætharr from the beginning. They consisted of the surviving Calador weasels of his first marches, a group of Vireo guards, and a number of scarred Jeri martens, all under the command of the marten Lieutenant Rojo.

Now the battle plans would be made for the battle that would break Oorlog and the Hunan clan forever.

The battle was to take place at the Ridge of the Dead, known very well as Verfluchtes Land. It was a maze of rock, slopes, hills, and the skeletons of countless battles.

Jinn and Redjaw would command fifty light-armed martens, and twenty Calador soldiers. They would act as messengers and reinforcements if necessary.

Ætharr would command Aletorix' fyrd, which numbered about a hundred and thirty beasts, along with Gæruff's veterans and Rojo's company. Ædall would be with him, as would Judos. Ætharr wanted Gæruff's veterans, for their former lord had been legendary in his standards of a soldier, so it was no surprise that his troops were among the toughest and most loyal to him in Calador.

Blackaxe would command Snauw and five hundred martens, which would be the bait to lure Oorlog into the battle.

Blackback had a command of two hundred fifty Vireo soldiers, and he would combine them with Ervaring's two hundred troops, plus fifty that would guard Brocovar.

Horal would command the remaining hundred of Leofir's fyrd, plus another hundred of the Calador reinforcements.

Ferric would take control of his seventy troops, and a hundred fifty loyalists from Eadwig's lands.

Ibos and Brownhide together would command five hundred forty Vireo troops. The two of them had struck a friendship that often comes from war.

Kazahley's company would attach themselves to Jager's one hundred fifty Jeri martens. Kazahley repeated his brother's oath of loyalty after Snauw had brought up the subject.

This composed of the battle groups. Two thousand seven hundred fifty allies would march and give battle to their foes. It was an incredible thought, for it meant that they were only outnumbered by three hundred beasts. It was an incredible feeling.

It was soon decided upon what the plan was. There was a valley in particular that was promising for a trap.

Jinn and Redjaw would perform a guerrilla tactic to shake up the Hunan, and lure them into the valley by the only flat way, from the north. Blackaxe would be there facing them at the south end, and the Hunan would fight the martens. Then, as the battle would be joined, troops would charge from out of hiding and attack the flanks. Blackback and Ervaring would engage them on the east flank, backed by Ferric. Kazahley, Ibos, and Horal would attack from the west flank.

The north end of the valley, the escape route for the Hunan, would be sealed off by Ætharr's troops. He would advance mere seconds after the flanks were hit. The hammer blow would be bloody, but it would destroy the Hunan forever.

Iola would fight in Ætharr's company, and Rosheen wanted to fight as well.

Ætharr secretly did not want Rosheen to fight, for he had enough to worry about. But he knew if he said so, she would stubbornly refuse to stay behind. So he decided to use cleverness to get her out of the battle.

He took her aside after the council, "Do you want to fight as well, Rosheen?"

The beautiful weasel eyed him with a glow in her eye, "We both know the answer to that one, so we do."

As always, Ætharr was captivated by the lilting accent. However, he forced himself to stay on task.

"I need you to appeal to the Falcarragh tribe. We need peace at the least, alliance at the most. I just hope your father can influence Tiarnan."

Rosheen suddenly gained a glow in her eye, and Ætharr suddenly realised that she might want to go home to her family. What right did he have to claim her over her father? Love blinded people all the time and Ætharr now realised that he had ignored the fact that Rosheen was not his, and it would end.

"I'm sure my father will at least appeal for peace,' Rosheen said after a second.

She left that day, with an escort of three agents in Jinn's service.

The plans were made, so all they could do was wait for news on Oorlog. Over the weeks Blackaxe, Ætharr, Blackback, Jager, Ædall, and Ferric had led vicious raids against the Hunan tribe. Although they never met with Oorlog's main army, they did encounter news that Oorlog had sworn an oath to kill Ætharr the moment he had the chance.

Jinn and Redjaw were tireless in their scouting and spying. Jinn's three agents in Hunan stated that Oorlog was biding his time, calling upon as many troops as he could muster.

This gave the allies cheer, for it meant he was desperate to fight them and win. Surely if the enemy was in bad spirits, then they would have an advantage over them!

So the army stayed by Brocovar for the moment. All trained vigorously for the battle that would ultimately decide the victor.

Judos had gone on all of the raids. He grew to admire the various leaders, such as Ferric, Aletorix and Brownhide, but there were some that he feared nonetheless. Prime examples were Blackback and Jager. The two were very savage, but he willingly admitted that both were good leaders.

Ætharr and his friends trained Judos regularly. Judos grew used to all their various fighting strategies, whether it was Ædall's bear-like rush or Horal's surprisingly swift sword skills. Horal was a heavy-set weasel, but his paws were fast enough to put Martin the Warrior himself at unease, or so Judos thought. He hated it sometimes: he would sometimes fight until his arms felt like lead, and he would scream to be given a break. He was driven on, for Ætharr knew that to get used to weapons, it required an endless use of them. Judos soon noticed that the swords and axes that he used were less heavy than they were two weeks ago. He kept the Sword of Martin carefully guarded in his room: it was a blade meant for battle, not for mere practice.

It was not just skills with weapons he learned. The first time he was on a raid, he was told to burn a farmer's home within the Hunan territory. Judos had recoiled at the tearful begging the farmer and his family had given, but Blackback, who had been the leader, mercilessly killed all four of them. He had turned to Judos and had given him a long stare. Many seasons later, Judos would wake up shaking about that stare. Blackback had then told Judos about the rules of war. And what rules they were: all is fair in war, and war is hell. Blackback could not have been clearer with Judos.

On other raids, he met some leaders who had signs of scruples, like Ferric and Aletorix, but then hardened their hearts. Their argument was that Vireo and Calador citizens had been killed by Hunan raiders, but Judos could not help but see how heartless you had to be. It seemed to Judos as though soldiers should be able to laugh and talk like decent individuals, and then slay like savages the next. It opened the otter's eyes to a world he had never seen before.

He was fearful of Blackback afterwards, until he learned through the conversation of soldiers, that he and Coldbane had been the sort of best friends that war offered.

Everything changed in his view of the sable ferret. He was suddenly intensely curious how well Blackback had known Coldbane.


	23. Chapter 23

22

Thornback lay on his bed in Mungan's house, tears from the morning still wet on his cheeks. He could never remember feeling so depressed and broken before.

It had all started three weeks ago, with the death of Drostan by Ebs. Maon had predicted doom, and doom was what had come.

Taskill did not take to the death of his best lieutenant. A gang war had begun once again between the Nativists and the Black Rabbits. The other gangs either took side, or tried to benefit from the war by taking power.

Mungan's house was where the Thornback and his company hid. Other hares came routinely in and out to see the two leaders of the Black Rabbits.

Each day brought more fights, more maimed, more dead.

Names were made in those fights. Macrath and Maon slew Drostan's younger brother in an ambush in an alleyway. Skipper taught the Nativists to fear the fighting skills of an otter, while the Gousim shrews were much harder to kill than they first thought.

However, there were casualties among them too. Shrews died, including a cousin of Gunnar's. June, one of the four otter siblings, lost an eye in a skirmish.

Soon it became dangerous to even walk down the street. Folk were pressured to join sides, or else they were foes.

Surprisingly, Raga and Ben refused to fight, but for different reasons. Raga would only fight to defend the innocent civilians, something that got him a reputation as a peacekeeper. Ben was merely being opportunistic, not seeking to fight when he could avoid it.

After two weeks of this, Mungan received a challenge from Taskill in the form of the head of a large fish, caught from the nearby sea. Raga had shuddered as the bulging eyes stared without seeing, and a scrawled message in its mouth made it all clear.

Taskill himself had presented it, and Mungan had nodded in his direction. The challenge was accepted. There had been a private council that night on where it would be, when, and what weapons were to be used. Only Mungan, Macrath, and Ebs had gone, and they informed the rest when they got back.

Thornback had been awed by the ritualistic form of the gang's preparation.

They had started out in the cellar of Mungan's house. Shane, Talia, and Peggy would come, as would Skipper, Jander, Thornback, Ebs, Maon, Macrath, Mungan, Log a Log, and fifteen shrew volunteers.

Mungan and his sons outfitted them all with sky blue dye, armbands showing the black rabbits, and some weapons specially suited for the gang war.

The weapons put the companions aback. They were for the most part crude, wickedly sharp, and short.

Maon and Macrath also had spiked bands on their limbs in order to inflict pain easier. Mungan was dressed in a black robe with gold buttons. Ebs wore his vine-woven tunic and carried his dagger.

Thornback was dead against giving up his spear. However, in response to the advice of the hares, he took a weird-looking hatchet that had a long blade on one end, a spike on top, and a hammer edge on the other side.

Mungan looked to six hares that would join them, two of whom carried a drum and pipes of all things, "The time has coom, once again."

The thick door in the cellar was opened, to face a long cavern with unlit torches on the walls.

Mungan suddenly looked to Ben, who was leaning up against the stairway, unnoticed by any before. His shillelagh was in his paw.

"Well, well, Ben. Are ye with us or not?"

Ben merely glanced at him, "I've had it with you before, Mungan. I'm with you if I get votes to my support."

Everyone except Mungan's family and Ebs was shocked. Votes? What did he mean?

It became clear to Thornback first. There were elected positions in the Highlands, and they offered power. An example was the role of alderman, another was sheriff. Ben had looked at the role of sheriff and wanted it.

The drawback was that he was an outsider, and not known. Ben was smart enough to know that he could win them over, but if he couldn't, he would get votes from the Black Rabbits at least.

Mungan hesitated, and then said, "I'll give you ten per notch."

"Ten?" Ben was impressed.

"Ye have me word."

Ben stepped forward, hefting his shillelagh, "Ten per notch?"

"Per _new_ notch."

Ben smiled at the catch, looked at his beautifully crafted club, and looked up, "Then I'm with you." He put his right paw into the loop and gripped his weapon.

Maon lit the first torch, and at that signal, a young leveret ran ahead, lighting torches on the way.

The music began, and Mungan and Ebs led the procession into the cavern.

To Thornback it was very surreal. The music had a wild tune to it, and it was also very catchy. The drums beat a rat-tat, and the high notes whistled out their tune.

Jander handled a crude-looking club with spikes sticking out of it along with a farmer's scythe. Skipper clutched a javelin and a blacksmith's hammer. Shane, Peggy, and Talia carried an assortment of bolas, hatchets, and knives.

Mungan looked the most dignified, with a short sword at his side, and a staff of hardwood in his paw.

Macrath carried a scythe like Jander, and he also had an iron spike railing. Ebs walked in front with Mungan, staring straight ahead. Ben loped near the front, wearing nothing of any allegiance to anyone.

As they walked, they passed little caves on either side, where hares prepared for the fight. Some joined in the march, others were left behind or they went off somewhere else.

Thornback, Log a Log, Skipper, and the some of the others were inwardly stunned at the crudity of the weapons. There were spiked wristbands, brass knuckles. The weapons were also fearsome-looking, ranging from sharpened hooks to curved machetes.

Eventually, they ended in front of a large oaken door set against a stone wall. The music continued to be played as Mungan and Ebs walked forward and pushed the door open. Then the music was stopped.

What faced the contingent was an open courtyard of large buildings and a scattering of snow. It was so quiet; it seemed unfeasible that there was to be a battle.

The group, which numbered about forty fighters, lined itself up, with Mungan and Ebs a pace ahead of them. They stared at a building that looked like a warehouse.

Taskill stepped outside first. He twitched his moustache, stamped his paws on the ground, and led his hares forward.

There were so many of them, definitely over two hundred hares. Thornback shuddered at the odds and gripped his spear. Beside him, Skipper quietly put a stone in his sling. Ben smiled and fingered the notches in his shillelagh.

The Nativists and their allies lined up, outstretching their opponents. Taskill smiled, "Is this it, Rabbits? Were you short of hares?" He stared scornfully at the shrews and other animals that filled in the ranks.

Mungan shook his head, "Ach, Tassy. Ye doon't learn, do ye? Ah always stay three steps ahead of mah allies."

As he spoke, Thornback and his friends could hear the footsteps of other hares.

The Black Rabbits and their allies marched forward, some announcing the names of the gangs on their side.

"The Razor Blades!"

"The Immortal Guard!"

"The Golden Eyes!"

"The King's Own!"

The forces were now evenly matched. Hares jostled in place on the Rabbits' side, and the line grew to match that of their foes.

Taskill looked on, with a look that seemed to be satisfaction. He nodded, and stepped back. Two younger hares pulled off his coat, took his top hat, and carried them away through the ranks. He pulled out a long knife and a cleaver from his belt. He called out in the ritualistic fashion,

"On my challenge, by the ancient laws of combat, we have met here today on this ground, to settle the blood feud, and to see who holds power in the Highlands! Us pure Natives, or the foul rabble besmirching the mountain air!"

The hares on his side roared their approval, throwing up their arms and weapons. Thornback shuddered.

Mungan glared, "By the ancient laws of combat, I accept the challenge handed tae me. These hares have denied the tradition that goes back to Bucko himself, and they will surely be punished for it!"

His fighters cheered. Thornback felt something in his heart rise.

"Then may mine hands turn red with the blood of my foes!" Taskill was in a battle mode, fingering his knife.

"Prepare to be lain down once and for all!" Mungan drew his sword.

The battle began in earnest. Taskill's hares threw their top hats in the air and charged. Mungan's forces charged, shrews outstripped by hares, Jander leaping through the air, Ben walking impassively forward like the mercenary he was.

Thornback lunged forward with his spear, taking a hare in his stomach. He pulled it out to finish his foe, but was suddenly hit from the left by another Nativist. A Black Rabbit beside Thornback swung an axe in his defence, but he now realized that this was a more primitive warfare than he was used to.

Mungan was slashing with his sword like he was a youngster. Hares flew back in mists of blood around him. Ebs leapt forward with every death he inflicted. Ben was a madbeast, swinging his shillelagh through the air, crushing bodies. Thornback could see Taskill cut mercilessly at his foes, whether they were shrew, otter, or hare.

The battle went by almost in a blur to Thornback. Occasionally, he saw figures in front of him fighting.

Ben walked past him once, snarling as his club broke a skull clean open. Maon was weaving in and out of the fighting, slashing and stabbing as he could. His brother held a hare in a headlock as Shane cut his throat. Log a Log was leading the survivors of his shrews in a fighting block, slashing out with rapiers.

With a look of horror, the badger saw Peggy go down with a dagger thrust. She screamed a cry of death. In a flash, Jander leaped across her body, blood pouring from a wound on his shoulder even as he slew Peggy's killer. Log a Log snarled as his tail was chopped off, and thrust his rapier blade at the offender's groin.

Beside Log a Log, a shrew was trampled underfoot. A Black Rabbit went down on Mungan's right, surrounded by Nativists.

Like a hero, Mungan took them all on. In his wrath, the old leader was mighty, and his younger opponents fell back in dismay.

It was madness. A bloodbath indescribable even for a Salamandastron badger. The fighting was crude, merciless, and ghastly.

Ben's club was a blur as he killed. Taskill was unstoppable, cutting through anyone. Ebs was a mask of death as he slew his enemies.

Thornback swung suddenly as a hare attacked him. The hare was young, and he did not see his death in front of him. Thornback stared as his spear buried itself in the hare's neck.

Skipper limped from a dagger in his haunch but he still fought viciously. Jander screamed as he took out a Nativist with his spiked club.

Macrath howled as he drove a Nativist onto a pike held by a King's Own.

Thornback was trembling on the outskirts of the fight. All around there was blood. On the ground, in the air, and on the combatants.

The cries of the wounded filled Thornback's ears. He couldn't stand it.

Suddenly, Thornback saw Taskill approaching Mungan from behind.

The tall hare called out, "Mungan!"

As the hare turned, Taskill swung, his cleaver taking the hare in the chest.

Thornback screamed. Mungan crumbled without a sound. All he did was a last feeble attempt to raise his sword. But it was too late for the old hare.

A horn sounded the air. A Black Rabbit had blown it, and it meant the worst.

All the fighting stopped.

Ben stared, his face grim as the blackest night. Jander was surprised by the sound, not knowing what it meant. Shane and Talia, both wounded, wept as they carried their sister Peggy from the battlefield.

Maon was stunned in grief; his brother was already running forward, tears running down his face.

Taskill was screaming his victory. He paced Mungan's corpse, "Look at this, lads! The great Mungan, dead at my feet. He can join his friend in hell!"

To Thornback's horror and immense grief, he saw that he carried the same weapon that Ebs had been carrying.

The old hare lay some distance away, with Taskill's knife in the back of his neck.

Thornback felt the Bloodwrath rise for the first time since the battle began. It was drowned in a sudden wave of grief. It was as if he too had lost his father.

All were silent, except for the wounded.

The Black Rabbits stepped forwards to take their leader's body. Macrath stood in front of them. His actions implied that he was the new leader of the Black Rabbits, and Taskill acknowledged that with a smile of mockery.

"Your fawther an' his frien' died today for messing about with my rules. You would do well to take heed of this day."

Jander and Skipper limped forward to stand behind Macrath. The hare's eyes were flint, "This will not be forgotten easily, oor soon, Tassy."

The victorious Nativists snarled at the insult, but they knew it was a feeble attempt to regain lost dignity in defeat.

Taskill sighed in pity of the younger hare's temper, and motioned for his hat and coat. The two hares ran forward and put it back on.

Ben, covered in the blood of others, took a knife from the dead, and began to cut short strokes into the handle. He looked at Thornback beside him, "Thirty-four, plus twelve on their way. About sixty others wounded-they don't count."

Thornback felt a jab of joy in the fact that the raccoon had slain so many, but was then hit by revulsion at the way Ben spoke of death. It was so calm, just like after the escape from the Painted Ones.

He suddenly saw Ebs' body, and his face tightened into anger. Beside him, a wounded Nativist crawled along, weeping. He looked very young.

In a flash, Ben's shillelagh crushed the hare's skull like an eggshell.

The nearest hares roared their anger, and Taskill turned to look at the raccoon's back.

Looking over his shoulder, Ben matched Taskill's stare. He turned on his heel to face them, mockingly cutting one last notch.

Thornback stood beside him, scared that a new fight would break out. He hefted his spear, knowing he would defend his friend if need be.

Suddenly, Thornback heard a gasping noise. With shock making him shake, he realised it was Ebs.

He ran to the old hare, furious with himself for not checking to see if he was alive. Ebs gasped at the air, as if filling himself with life, "Thorn, ole lad."

Tears pricked the badger's eyes as he heard the pain in his old friend's voice. Taskill had been merciless, and the pain was slow and agonizing, "M-maybe we could carry you back, Ebs. We might..."

Ebs smiled weakly, "Don't pull the bally wool over me eyes. I'm dying, an' nothing can stop it.' Suddenly he looked at him, "What happened? I was passed out for a few minutes a moment ago. Where's Mungan? Or Taskill?"

Thornback suddenly realised the next thing he said would break the hare's heart. He paused, and spoke the harsh truth, "We lost. Taskill killed Mungan. He snuck up on him and when he turned around, he killed him. Peggy is dead. Skipper and Jander are wounded. Ben is untouched, but Log a Log lost his tail to a hare's axe. Macrath has taken over."

As he spoke, his heart broke watching the truth hit Ebs. He appeared grey at Mungan's death, and he sniffed. Blinking back tears, he clutched Thornback's paw as if he were falling, "Promise me something, Thornback!"

Thornback nodded, "Name it, Ebs. I swear on my life that I'll do it."

Ebs whispered, so great was his pain, "Find the Scroll, and destroy the Nativists."

Thornback was surprised, but nodded.

Ebs moaned in pain, and spoke again, "I had a vision back then. I saw the ancient throne of the Highlands, where Bucko and his descendants sat. You were seated there."

Thornback was stunned at this information. Him, ruling the Highlands? Impossible. The tradition of Badger Lords had long died out, if it had ever been here in the first place. He had thrown away a claim to the Mountain by running away, so he had no right to make another. Then again, that claim had been useless beside Roaveen's claim to the throne.

Suddenly, Ebs gasped in pain, "Thorn! Take me paws!"

Thornback, tears welling into his eyes, clutched his paws and held them near his heart.

Ebs spoke barely over a mutter, "Kiss me, lad, for we shall not meet again."

The strong young paws of the badger were extremely gentle, but they shook from suppressed grief. Slowly, Thornback kissed Ebs' paws, and his forehead. Even as he pulled away from the hare, Ebs breathed his last breath.

Thornback suddenly howled his grief and rage. Startled hares looked around, some of them in the midst of grief themselves.

A Nativist had leered at the corpse of Ebs, but paled at the look Ben gave him.

The raccoon stood over the sobbing badger, protecting both his friends, dead and living.

Thornback's body had shook as he still clutched Ebs' paws, as though that could bring back the dead Lieutenant.

Suddenly, Taskill had approached, "That old fool was the cawse of this fight. Drawstan's death is a porsonal insult that could never have been ignored."

Macrath stepped up, his temper flaring in the wake of his father's death, "That hare was a better chappie than all the bluidy gogaids ye led on this day. An' as for ye, ye can boil yersel' in a tub of geir for all I care!" Geir was an old word for tallow, and a gogaid was a giddy female.

Taskill, knowing that his victory was still intact, had turned on his heel and left.


	24. Chapter 24

23

Over the three weeks, Adisa became a regular sight for the Abbey dwellers. He was very polite and good-natured, despite his dark appearance.

It was his appearance that repelled the Abbey dwellers on the first day, until one brave Dibbun dared to skip over to where he sat. She had bade him a cheerful good morning, and he had pulled a candied chestnut out of her ear. Interested, more Dibbuns approached, and within minutes he had them captivated with a great tale of a land of many wonders.

It became easier after that, especially after Arly made their friendship obvious. Some questioned the hedgehog's choice, but the majority listened as Arly vouched for the civet. They took his word, and gave Adisa a chance.

What had Varrus been thinking? This civet was very charming and polite. Mysterious perhaps, maybe a bit withdrawn, but everyone has flaws, do they not?

Varrus frowned at the sight of Adisa at meals, or when they passed each other in the Abbey's interior. But he was thinking of other things more important.

He had interrogated them all countless times. He had swallowed insults, and had always ploughed on with his questions.

Every single one of them had a suspicious part of their past or personality.

Elial, the old fox, had fought in many places, and it was discovered that he knew many old languages; one of which had been the language that used the same word for four and death.

The bankvole brothers had hidden their pasts with a furious act of self-righteousness, but after many weary hours of asking, they admitted that they had once been left destitute after someone had robbed them when they were younger. They had never found the culprit, or so they claimed.

Varrus had felt suspicious. Slade had been wild as a youth...

_He is a youngster, watching a young female of the strange race playing in the mud. She is giggling as the mud becomes a little house that most children make. However, he knows that the house has been made by a child who is not like other children he knows. He looks at the house with disdain._

_Suddenly a troop of laughing youngsters tramp along. They are some creatures that he knows. One of the foremost, a handsome young squirrel, points at the strange animal and laughs. They call her names that have become common words for youth to describe them. She knows them and begins to cry. _

_He laughs, and joins in. The squirrel, seeing an ally, throws stones at the mud house. He joins in with the squirrel, and the little toddler runs away home, sobbing._

_He knows the squirrel. Slade is one of the bolder squirrels. He goes farther than the others, but he finds Slade as going about the right way against these inferior parasites. Slade is not above stealing from others. Slade is very good at it; he admires Slade for his carefree attitude and his reputation._

_He starts to hang out with Slade more often._

Slade had performed countless acts of juvenility. Was this a pair of brothers accusing the squirrel of being the robber?

The others made him feel suspicious as well.

Hal Copland had suffered in a great famine six seasons ago, but he had been unable to get some alms from Redwall. Varrus remembered that there had barely been enough food for the Abbey dwellers to survive on, but Hal had not known nor cared.

Hella had thought hard, remembering trivial things, but there were still many blanks in her history. She had felt sorry about it, apologizing to Varrus about it.

Elfwin had been the most stubborn of them all. Her scornful defiance rankled at Varrus, and he extended the interrogation until late into the night.

Neither had gotten any sleep. The guards had been changed four times, and still Elfwin would not give in. She cursed Varrus vigorously, telling him nothing, but Varrus was sure that she was hiding something from him.

"Why would you come to Redwall? What was Slade to you?" Varrus had said, exhausted, and he was stunned when Elfwin finally broke out,

"He's my father!" She burst into tears of exhaustion.

Varrus was speechless for a few minutes, "Impossible' he had breathed, 'I knew Slade; he never had a child."

"It was a result from an affair,' she had sobbed, 'I wanted to see him when I heard that he was here. Then I found out he was demented." She said no more.

So now, Varrus was certain of Elfwin being the killer. She was bitter, exiled, and was the daughter of Slade the Sane. All he needed was a confession to the murder, and then it would all be over.

But where did that leave Adisa? Whenever he thought of Elfwin, his heart rose at the thought of the murder finally solved, then his heart would sink at the thought of the civet. He was not nearly done with Varrus, and Adisa had something up his sleeve for sure.

One day, Adisa and Arly were sitting under an apple tree, sheltered from the sun, and satisfied of hunger by munching the red fruit.

"So what have you got against Father Abbott? You've never told me."

Adisa was silent, as he always was when he was asked that question. As Varrus had done so many times, he went back into his past...

_He had been raised by his father, mother, grandmother, and eight siblings. He was the middle child exactly. The oldest child was taller than their father, while the youngest were twin infants._

_He had grown up as a toddler surrounded by love. He had many friends among the rest of the tribe. The tribe was small-fifty in all- but that meant it was compact and tightly bonded._

_He had played with his siblings, been taught secrets by his mother and grandmother, and his father had been proud of him._

_His tribe was composed of civets. However, there were other creatures that dwelled together not ten minutes from where their home was. He had always assumed that there were more civets beyond their camp._

_One day he met a creature his own age, a squirrel. As always when faced by another, he had been polite and had asked what the squirrel's name was. The squirrel had spat in his face, called him something he had never heard before, and had darted away._

_That was how he had entered an outside world, where he was surrounded by hate._

_He had gone home to ask his father what the word was._

_His father had turned grey in the face, and he began to explain how the other creatures of the woods were suspicious of civets. Civets came from a land far away. _

_He was surprised. 'Why do they hate us?' he had asked._

_'Because we are different.' That was all his father had said._

_Slowly, he began to see the world beyond his little community, and realize just how out of place he really was..._

Adisa came back to reality, "Alonzo, Varrus and I knew each other from when we were children."

"That long?" To Arly, imagining his Abbott as a youngster was unthinkable.

"He was older than me, true, but I still knew him well."

"Were you friends?"

A long pause ensued, "Once."

"Why aren't you friends anymore?"

"That is a very long story."

"We got time, don' we?"

"That tale will come soon enough, Alonzo, when I deem it right to tell."

That was all Adisa said on the subject matter.

Upstairs, Mother Sara watched the civet and hedgehog from her chamber.

She thought of Varrus, and how this was affecting him.

_Sara had come to Redwall with K__l__anza and Brokk, the only parents she had in the world. They had told her that her mother and father had died, and she had left it at that. They went to Redwall, for the two bank voles were growing too old to manage their small farm. She took them to the Abbey to be taken care of._

_She remembered Varrus as a fully grown otter with a thin face, and serious eyes. He had been one of the Brothers of Redwall under Abbott Lyon, an elderly squirrel._

_He had listened to her plight, and looked her directly in the eye, "What do you intend to do with your life, now?"_

_Sara had been unsure. She had originally planned to run the farm on her own, but his question made her realize that she did not want to be a farmer on the banks of a river._

_He leaned forward, "Lyon, seasons spare him, is an old creature. He will not last long. You are a good creature, and I believe that you would be a wonderful Badger Mother at Redwall."_

_Sara had been surprised, "Badger Mother? I'm not old enough to be a mother!"_

_Varrus had smiled, "No, but you could still care for your parents."_

_Sara decided that it was a good idea. She liked this otter, he was kind and considerate, "You should be the Abbott."_

_Varrus nodded seriously, "I intend to do that. I should like to ask you to vouch for me if the time comes."_

_She had smiled and agreed._

_Two seasons later, Abbott Lyon had died, and there was an election on who the next Abbot or Abbess would be._

_Sara had gained the respect of the Abbey for her kind heart but well handling of affairs as Badger Mother. She spoke in support of Varrus, and many had been persuaded by her words._

_Varrus was elected Father Abbott of Redwall by a landslide._

_He came to Sara afterwards, "You have proven to be my good friend. Thank you."_

_There had been something strange in his attitude. It was one of immense gratitude, but there was also something else behind it. Sara did not place it at the time, but__ she later realized it was fear of something._

_What could it possibly have been that Varrus feared? Had he wanted the position that badly that he had feared he would not get it?_

_At the time, she had said, "It really was a pity about Lyon, may he rest in peace."_

_Varrus had slowly nodded, "Yes. May he rest in peace."_

_From then on, they had become good friends, getting to know each other well. Varrus and Sara adored Redwall and they did their best to make it a good place._

Personally, she thought they had done an incredible job together, and they were still doing a good job.

But who was this Adisa? He had never been mentioned by Varrus before, yet the civet claimed to know Varrus from a long time ago.

She was puzzled, too, by Varrus' reaction to this creature. He was scared of him, she was sure of it. But what was he scared of?

Adisa had always been polite to her, and she to him, but there was something between them. Maybe it was the fact that she had such confidence with Varrus, and he was in mutual dislike of him.

She heard the Dibbuns coming. She smiled fondly, thinking of her time at Redwall.

The countless creatures she had taken care of and raised. Brother Gores, who had become the Abbey Recorder; Jander, who was now a dweller of Mossflower; Shane and his sisters, who later joined Skipper's band. Even Skipper himself had been raised by Sara for some time. There were so many familiar faces in her memory and she hoped many more would come.

Thinking of familiar faces, she thought of her foster parents. They had died ten seasons after they first arrived. Both had been buried in the graveyard where an old church had once stood.

Suddenly, walking down to meet Sister Val to take care of the Dibbuns, she thought fleetingly of her real parents. Who had they been? How could they both have died at the same time?

The bank voles had never been specific on their deaths. Perhaps they were reluctant to give her bad thoughts?

There were quite a few puzzles in Sara's life, she realized. However, just as she realized this, three Dibbuns had grabbed her paws, laughing.

She smiled at the troop of infants. This was her life, and she was content with it.


	25. Chapter 25

24

Ætharr had planned it out carefully with everyone. The army would march out in their contingents to prepare for the final battle.

Ibos and Brownhide had already left, as had Blackaxe, Jager and Kazahley. Horal and Ferric were both to depart in the morning, and Blackback would team up with Ervaring to leave within the evening next day.

It was a timed departure for everyone: if there were any scouts, they would see the smaller forces of the captains heading off in different directions. Oorlog would hear of it, and would more likely believe it when he heard that Blackaxe was alone, and preparing to fight him.

Rosheen had not been heard from at all, but there had been a message stating that they had passed the border into the Falcarragh territory.

Judos was simmering with hatred for Blackback. The sable ferret was merciless, hard, and an old friend of Coldbane's. Had he been with Coldbane when the grey fox had killed his family? The thought of that possibility drove the otter mad. He had not told anyone of his intentions, for he knew that Ætharr did not want to lose either him or the black ferret in a duel. Plus, Blackback would be hard to kill, and a part of Judos still tried to avoid battle.

He was nervous of the battle to come: but there was something else. He felt stimulated by the thought of fighting. Judos wanted to prove himself again, to show that he was as mighty a warrior as possibly Martin himself.

Ætharr's group would march in two days, so they, along with the others still at Brocovar, were feasting in celebration of the victory to come.

Only Iola was not jolly. She had shrieked that if they were not careful, they would all be slain. She begged Ætharr and the commanders to stop the feast, for danger was coming.

Horal and Ferric were puzzled by this, stating that the feast could not possibly be stopped now. To appease the vixen, Ætharr forbade the commanders to drink. Most of the troops leaving tomorrow knew better than to drink too much, anyway, he reasoned.

However, there are times when comradeship, alcohol, and emotion erodes even the most disciplined soldier. So it was for many of the soldiers. They were far from home, from family, they had comrades here, and the ale was plentiful. Despite the scores of soldiers that stayed within their limits, others were pickled drunk in a matter of an hour or two.

Soon, they were all loudly singing an old soldier's song that had originated in the west, but had spread out among all warriors.

_When on the road to sweet Athy,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_When on the road to sweet Athy,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_When on the road to sweet Athy_

_A stick in the hand,_

_ A drop in the eye_

_A doleful damsel I heard cry_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_Where are the eyes that looked so mild,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_Where are the eyes that looked so mild,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_Where are the eyes that looked so mild_

_When my poor heart you first beguiled_

_Why did ya run from me and the child_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_[Chorus:__We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __sword__s,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __swords_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __sword__s and drums and drums and __sword__s_

_The enemy never slew ya_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_Where are the legs with which you run,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_Where are the legs with which you run_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_Where are the legs with which you run,_

_When first you went to join the fun_

_Indeed your dancing days are done_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __sword__s,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __swords_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __sword__s and drums and drums and __sword__s_

_The enemy never slew ya_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_I'm happy for to see ya home,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_I'm happy for to see ya home,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_I'm happy for to see ya home_

_From the isle of Ceylon_

_Johnny I hardly knew ya_

_We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __sword__s,_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __swords__ and drums and drums and __swords_

_Hurroo Hurroo_

_We had __sword__s and drums and drums and __sword__s_

_The enemy never slew ya_

_JOHNNY I HARDLY KNEW YA!_

It was a great song, and soon all were snarling the lines out alongside wild music notes of percussion and pipes. Ætharr, who personally loved the song, sang as loud as anyone, standing with his cousin, who roared out with him.

Suddenly, just as the song came to an end, a few beasts with voice left began to sing it again. It was then that Jinn approached Ætharr,

"You should see this."

Surprised, Ætharr followed his friend, taking Ædall and Judos with him.

They went to the wall, where they leaned over the battlements to stare at a bright glow in the distance. The sun was a mere speck of red in the sky (As always, Ætharr remembered that red suns meant blood to run), but there was a small orange glow in the distance. A trail of black arose from the glow.

"What's going on out there?" Ædall was suddenly worried.

None answered him. There was something amiss, and they were trying to figure out what it was.

Suddenly, there was a call from below, "I'm looking for Jinn!"

"Who is that?" Jinn called out, deepening his voice.

The other three were surprised at the security Jinn took.

"He's a Calador weasel, illegitimate son of Darrin and Liana!" Jinn had kept his mother's affair a dark secret, and it served well to use it as a pass code for this weasel. Jinn gave every agent a different pass code.

Jinn smiled, "I'll be right down."

The four creatures ran down to the small gate that opened to the east. An insistent knocking sounded from outside, "It's Mallory."

Ætharr turned to Jinn, almost laughing, "Mallory?"

"It's a code name." Jinn opened the door.

Mallory was a fine-looking Calador weasel, fit and lean. However, the weasel was panting heavily, evidently having rushed to give his master news.

"An attack! Blackaxe has been ambushed and driven back!"

Judos went cold. Oorlog had planned a secret strategy of his own, and both plans had now collided, "What happened?"

"They were resting, preparing to leave, when a group of vermin attacked them. This was Oorlog's vanguard, so they fought off the vanguard and broke camp quick. Not many loss in life."

Ædall breathed a sigh of relief. It would be a bad thing if either Snauw or Blackaxe had died.

Mallory was not finished, "That's not all."

Jinn narrowed his eyes, "What else?""Another force attacked Ibos and Brownhide. Ibos panicked and tried to fight, but Brownhide kept a level head and withdrew into the hills."

Ætharr shook his head in exasperation. Ibos had been lucky when he had scaled the wall of Brocovar: the ferret just wasn't a soldier, as much as he wanted to be one. Besides, his life depended on Ibos' survival, as he had sworn his life forfeit to Nero if his son died.

A fury enveloped him. Oorlog had outfoxed them, then. It was maddening to think that he had now thrown them in disarray. Why had they not sent spies to observe Oorlog's battle plan? 'Through my own arrogance,' Ætharr thought bitterly.

Jinn was suddenly confused, "But you said Oorlog's army was chasing Blackaxe. Ibos is to the northeast of Blackaxe's troops. Did he split his force?"Mallory shook his head fearfully, "Ibos was attacked by Millars. Oorlog has recruited Ealdor Ælfer, and the entire Millar army. King Grodellflak leads his tribe alongside Ælfer."

For Mallory, it was a fear-inducing experience to see the three weasels change. Jinn went pale beneath his fur, his eyes glazed over in his silent anger.

Ædall, son of Ælfer, clenched his teeth so hard that it hurt.

Ætharr's eyes had turned red with almost uncontrollable wrath. His uncle had plotted the death of his father, and had taken the land of Calador of his own, allowing the Millars to run wild across its lands.

Judos, who had never even met Ælfer, felt a pulse of hatred, remembering what Ætharr and Ædall had said of him.

"Lords?" Mallory was hesitantly lifting a paw, as though being asked to speak.

"Finish your report." Jinn's voice was controlled, but he had not changed expression.

"Jager and Kazahley contacted me. They said that their march has been cut off by the Millars' approach. They're diverting south, and will head for the Ridge of the Dead."

Ætharr saw the wisdom in that. The Ridge of the Dead was 20 kilometres south-east of Brocovar, and all the commanders had a map, replicated from the original copy.

"Go find Blackaxe and tell him to pull back to the original location." Ætharr began to see how he could turn the tables and make the best of it.

It was still a shambles, though. If Kazahley and Jager were blocked off by advancing Millars, it meant they were heading towards Brocovar in an effort to recapture the fortress.

Mallory was about to go, but Ætharr called him back, "After that, try and find Ibos and tell him to join up with Blackaxe." It had been a mistake to put Ibos in charge of an army division, albeit with Brownhide. Brownhide would be much more useful under the giant marten leader.

As Mallory sped away, Ætharr turned to Jinn, "Take Redjaw and head into the wild. Scout, harass, I don't care what you do, just don't give open battle."

Jinn was good as an independent commander, Judos thought. The lithe weasel possessed the cunning of two weasels.

Jinn nodded, and sped away into Brocovar.

The Ealdor in Exile turned to Ædall and Judos, "It's a good thing we listened to Iola. We'll have to stop the feast and put those most drunk to bed. All sober beasts must form a guard. Also, tell them we're leaving early in the morning."


	26. Chapter 26

25

Macrath just wasn't the leader that his father had been. Despite the physical likeness, he had not gained the wisdom needed for being a leader of the Black Rabbits. Certainly he had a masterful cunning for war (he had been fighting for most of his life and had an impressive reputation) but his temper got in the way, and it was up to his younger brothers to set him straight.

Macrath relied on the youngest brother, Machar, as his counsellor. Maon was his top lieutenant in war.

However, there had been little war as of late. The Nativists were celebrating, gaining strength, while their opponents cut their losses and ground their paws in.

The Black Rabbits had lost hares, switching sides treacherously in favour of the winners. Their allies were suffering the same fate.

Thornback knew why. Mungan had made many alliances, and with death, some took it as a signal that their deals were now void. This was indeed the sad truth, and Macrath made it little better.

Thornback was slightly reminded of his own brother, Roaveen, in Macrath. Macrath shouted and raged at his brothers simply to displace his anger, and then would apologize later. He was physically the strongest of the lot, and he had been the heir to the Black Rabbits' affairs.

The Black Rabbits were not merely a war gang: they were guardians of the gang's members. The Black Rabbits, like other gangs in the Highlands, issued food and supplies to the families of the deceased, provided protection to the elder relations or, rare as it was, retired members.

Machar managed those things easily enough, while Maon managed the subject of war. At least, they did through Macrath's instructions.

Shane, June, and Talia were still grieving for their sister, and Thornback was still silent in the aftermath of Lieutenant Ebs' death.

The return had been sad. Raga and the eight guards left at Mungan's house had come forward, only to see the defeated host and to their horror, the bodies of the fallen.Ben, who had not bothered to clean the blood off him, had carried his shillelagh on one shoulder, leading Thornback with his free paw. The badger's eyes had been red from weeping.

Raga's nose had wrinkled in disgust at the raccoon's appearance, and stepped forward to take Thornback upstairs.

"I suppose you couldn't have made an effort to look better than this."

Ben had pointed his shillelagh at the Warrior mouse, "This is the reality of war: if you had been there, you little shit, you might have improved your look to something like this."

All had grown silent at the confrontation. Raga and Ben, the opposite ends of the scale, were now butting heads.

Raga had flushed with anger, "I have been protecting the innocent in this war, which is more than I can say of a mercenary such as yourself.' He glanced at Mungan's corpse, at Macrath, and back to Ben, 'I suppose you were hired to fight."

Ben shrugged, "I fought for a price, so now I get what is owed."

But he turned to Macrath, "I'll be expecting four hundred seventy votes my way then, Macrath?"

Macrath paused, and nodded, "Aye. Ten per notch, that's wot me father agreed."

The elections would be held in a few weeks, so Ben had plenty of time to plan out his campaign.

The problem was that it was difficult to walk through the entire city unnoticed. Some regions of the city would kill you if you even took three paces into their lane. Ben had been ambushed a few times, but the attackers had always fled with broken bones slowing them down. Ben was smart enough not to cause another gang war.

Macrath was not so smart. He was planning a massive return to power, recruiting more hares from the dozens of immigrants who came in every week or so. He wanted to send assassins against Taskill's lieutenants, even Taskill himself. It took the persuasions of the whole Black Rabbits' council to hold him down.

One day, all of a sudden at breakfast, Thornback spoke,

"I want to go into the mountains."

All stared at him, most in disbelief. Ben, however, spoke mildly, "When?"

"As soon as possible: I want to find the descendants of Fergus."

Only Maon knew what he was talking about. Macrath burst into laughter, "Wot are ye talkin' aboot, Thorn? Fergus died years ago in those moontains, aloon and undiscovered."

"A group of young hares went looking for him once, never to be seen again. I'm gambling that they found him, and decided to stay with him in the mountains."

Maon stood up, "Ah'm comin' with ye."

"I'm in." Jander raised a hand as though voting.

Macrath stared at his brother, "We need ye here, Maon. Ye can't just leave."

"Macrath, if we can find Fergus' hiding place in the mountains, then we could end the gang wars for good, and return the kings to their place once and for all."

In the end, Macrath allowed Maon to go with Thornback, Jander, Skipper, Log a Log Gunnar, and ten shrews into the mountains. Macrath supplied them with stores, coats, and an escort of ten hares to the end of the city.

The procession went through the outskirts of the city. Some heads turned at the sight, but no questions were asked. Due to a need for secrecy, only a few hares saw them.

Thornback wished Ben had come too. The raccoon would have been useful with survival skills in the wilderness. The raccoon had barely even said goodbye to the badger. Raga had snorted, telling Thornback not to get too attached to such a beast, but Thornback could not help but admire and like Ben.

Soon, beasts were tightening their parkas at the cold winds. The whiteness of the mountains were so bright in the sun it was almost blinding.

Thornback trudged forward, pushing his way through with his spear. Jander strode on top of the snow, as if the light-footed squirrel were walking on branches in his old forests. Log a Log and the shrews trudged along in the wake of the bigger creatures; they were partially protected from the wind by the wall of snow that went up to the heads.

It truly was a magnificent view of the mountains. The peaks rose to high points, blanketed by snow. The sky was an azure blue, dotted with fluffy clouds.

"Et woan't stay this way." Maon knew of the Highlands and how good weather could disappear quickly, "Ah'll bet that tomorrow es gonna be a bezoomny miserable day."

The party trekked on through the rising levels of snow. None complained, wanting to spare their breath in the face of a harsh climb.

However, Log a Log spoke up, "Do you know where you're going?"

Maon had brought an ancient text that was a diary of Fergus'. The text had been the same one that had guided the youth group after Fergus in the first place.

It spoke of a long trek into the mountains, in a direct north-west path.

However, all were sure that there was more to it than that, for the text had been obscure, and if Fergus had been that easy to track, then surely more would have found him?

The party decided to trek north-west anyway, in the hope that something would be noticed by then.

It was at the end of the first day, that Thornback huddled close to a meagre flame in a makeshift tent. The smoke made his eyesight blurry, but they did not want to risk the fire going out. The wind had picked up again, so they were not taking chances.

Skipper and Jander huddled together, bound by the squirrel's bushy tail. The Gousim shrews, for perhaps the first time in their history, were huddled as close as possible to each other, no one saying a thing.

Maon looked at the dark sky, "The cloods are gatherin'. Et's gonna be a hard journey."

He was right. The next day, the clouds darkened the sky to a heavy grey. The wind was surprisingly light, but Maon stated stoically that this was how it always started.

At one point, Thornback slipped in the snow. At once, Maon was at his side, helping him up.

"Careful, Thorn. Ef we're not careful, we'll start an avalanche."

So the rest of the day was spent in a bitter silence, as the wind began to pick up. It was maddening to have to almost close your eyes and then be expected to walk forward. For the shrews, it was unbearable, and grumblings grew.

At one point, they had reached the top of a slight slope, and it was then that Thornback looked around. He stared at the trail they had made, and commented drily, "It's a long way we've come."

He could no longer see the city. Nor could he see anything else, apart from mountains, snow, rocks, and ice.

He suddenly wished that Ebs was here. That brought fresh tears to his eyes. Over the last two days, he had been wearied down with marching, so he could not think much, but he had dreamed of Ebs, and woke up feeling miserable.

Shane and his remaining two sisters were worse off, he knew. He wondered what they were doing now, even as he slipped along through ice and snow.

Another day passed. The day had been worse, a blizzard forming at around midday, or so they guessed. Shrews had complained, stating that they would freeze to death. Despair was starting to creep up, especially as the way got even steeper. Jander was often in front, observing the terrain in front of the procession.

On the fourth day, it was the same thing all over again. The blizzard wore at everyone's coats and nerves. It was infuriatingly bad, and they all knew it.

Thornback's black stripe had turned white from the cold, "Where are we going, Jander?" He called to the squirrel over the howl of the wind.

"I don't know! It looks like some slope heading down!"

Maon shivered, "Guid. We need to get doon to ground level afore we freeze."

They trudged on, Jander in the fore.Thornback's mind was growing numb with the despair and weariness of the journey. Why oh why had he done this? It was obvious to him now that Fergus had died in these unforgiving mountains.

Suddenly, Jander's spear butt, which he used to stamp out a path in front of him, was jabbed in the worst place possible.

They were overlooking a descent of several hundred feet. One wrong step, and they were goners.

Now the one thing that could kill them all instantly had begun-an avalanche.

Thornback shrieked at the others as the snow and ice began to slide from under his feet. Above them, there was a cracking sound and snow from above began to slide downwards.

Jander was quicker than the others. Grabbing Log a Log, he pressed them both against the side of the mountain path. Skipper grabbed two other shrews and hurried forward after Jander.

Thornback was numb with horror. What could he possibly do against this awesome display of nature? 'Just give up, and it will end' a little voice shrieked in his mind.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder. Forced back into reality, the badger grabbed his spear, seeing a wedge.

He jammed his spear into the wedge, applying all his weight to the ground, Maon beside him doing the same.

Snow cascaded down, heavier than stone, it seemed. A shrew shrieked a death cry, and Thornback realised he too was screaming. Time seemed to slow down as he began to lack air to breathe. Suddenly, he realized that he was completely buried, and he and Maon were dying. With his last effort, he thrust his spear upwards in an attempt to break the cover, and then the world went black.


	27. Chapter 27

26

It was at Roaveen's request that Lieutenant Krieg was summoned to his private quarters.

The old hare had no idea why, but when his lord ordered, it was his humble duty to obey. He had no reason to refuse the Heir, so he made his way up to the fourth highest level of the mountain.

Krieg approached a large oaken door that was the entrance to Roaveen's quarters. He knocked on the door three times in rapt precision.

"Enter."

The hare let himself in: Roaveen's quarters were decorated with a mirror on the east wall, a large window on the west wall, and an old painting of one of the former Badger Lords of Salamandastron. Such paintings were rare, and Roaveen had desired to possess at least one of such. This one had been one made of a Badger Lord called Ironclaw the Kolchak. It was a mystery of what Kolchak meant, though one theory was that in one of the northern tongues, it meant 'admiral'. Ironclaw had been a renowned sea dog, one day relinquishing his Lordship to sail away forever for new lands to explore. The painting showed him in a heroic pose on the prow of his beloved ship "Cossack".

Roaveen had evidently been pacing around, waiting for his lieutenant to arrive. He nodded formally at Krieg, "Krieg, I must ask some questions of you that will not go beyond this room."

Inwardly, Krieg wondered if something was amiss. What did he need to ask him that had to be kept secret?

"Very well sah!" He stood to attention.

"At ease, lieutenant." As Krieg changed his position, Roaveen approached him, "You have served my father for many seasons, and you have been placed into my regiment, true?"

"Indeed, sah."

"Would you call yourself an honest hare?"

"Yes sah."

"Well then,' the badger sat down with a twitch of his nose, as though considering what to say next.

He paused for a second, and he asked, "Would you trust yourself on military judgement?"

Krieg paused in thought, but only at first, "Aye sah. I've seen those with the skills of a leader and those without it."

"Indeed?" Roaveen suddenly wondered what this veteran fighter and judge of others would say of him. Part of him desperately wanted to ask the question, another part wanted to hide from the fear of criticism.

Krieg was also able to see what Roaveen wanted. He had seen the change in the badger over the days; it was very small, something only he could see so far. However, he knew that it would spiral out of control soon if not stopped.

"Lord, I would have to say that you are the only one that could lead the Mountain Regiment, and no one could match you in warfare."

This was only part flattery. Roaveen had always shown a love for war and military tactics. All stated that he would doubtless become a greater warrior than what he already was.

Krieg picked his words carefully, and rightly, for he could visibly see Roaveen relax at the words he spoke.

"Very well, lieutenant, thank you. How are the hares doing?"

"Leaflock an' his group are still struggling, sah,' Leaflock and his group were the youngest of the hares; 'Liofe is taking care o' the veterans, so that leaves Sophus and Ormond to look after the rest, sah."

Roaveen frowned, "So who's looking after Leaflock?"

"Korari. He's volunteering a lot, sah."

"Ah. Thank you, Lieutenant; you're dismissed."

Krieg turned around and left, wondering if he had said the right thing.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Ben gripped his shillelagh as he walked down one of many village squares in the city. It was twilight, and the raccoon's senses were on the alert. The fact that he was in Black Rabbit territory meant nothing.

He walked up the steps hewed into the rock, and put a small key into the lock. He went into his house, in one fluid moment closing the door behind him, and locking it again.

A fire had been burning in the fireplace when he had left: it was now reduced to golden embers, casting a glow about the furniture of the shop. Ben lit a candle, and went upstairs.

Perhaps it was Ben's need to be neutral that made him seek out quarters of his own, and it had snowballed from there. Or it was a bit of him that he did not reckon with.

It had all started when they had gotten back from the battle. One of the hares killed had owned a house not five minutes away from Mungan's-now Macrath's- large home. The house had not been lived in much, and what furniture that had been there had been taken away by victorious Nativists in a spree of victory bullying. So Ben had taken it for himself after receiving permission from Macrath.

The house faced a court square, and was built slightly higher than the rest, with a rock face supporting most of the house. Steps had been carved into the rock, and even a few posts for support. The house was mostly made of stout wood, but with some bricks for the foundation. It was a two-storey, with a shop, kitchen, and bathroom on the main floor, the bedroom above.

When Ben had entered for the first time, some of the floorboards were old, and cracked, while the rooms were deserted.

Ben had immediately started work. He took long trips to the south of the city, coming back with many oak logs. He got a carpenter to fashion desks, two cupboards, a table, two chairs, a bed, a chest of drawers, and a replacement for the seat in the bathroom, with was merely a hole in the ground that connected with a little underground stream.

Bartering was the main economy in the Highlands, so in exchange, Ben gave the carpenter a portion of wood that would have taken the hare a full three days of no business to get.

That done, Ben began to furnish his house. He obtained several sheets for his bed, and even a few large pillows. The chest of drawers was placed upstairs, in which he unpacked his rucksack of garments. He cleaned out fireplaces of his kitchen and shop, and he half filled a cupboard with food. The table and chairs were placed in the small kitchen, at the back of the house. Finally, he arranged desks, shelves, a few tables, and his other cupboard to give the appearance of a shop.

Just as it was a large leap to take a house, such was the case of him opening a small business. He pondered long about what to do. At first he considered crafting shillelaghs, but he did not want to, as his club set him apart from others, just as him being a raccoon set him apart. He also thought of extending services, but declined.

Finally, he realised he should sell antiques and carvings. He was always good at carving out figures in wood or stone, and he knew he could scrounge for ancient materials to be sold. The more he thought of it, the more he liked it, and he went out to get what he needed to begin.

Using the remaining wood he had from his furniture, Ben made several figurines which he put on the mantel piece of the fireplace (for added effect). He also made larger statues that were placed on tables and desks. Alongside those were figures of hardened clay, stone, even some jade after Ben volunteered for a few horrid days in the mines north of the Highlands. The images varied from mythical creatures such as sea serpents, to those of everyday life (a warrior hare, or an otter sitting on a rock). Ben caught several fish and birds, stuffed them, and put them up for sale. The raccoon even tried painting, but they never sold, so he hung them upstairs. "Benjamin's Arts" was written boldly in black on the sign in front.

So it was that Ben became a small business owner. The first day, many came by, but it was only to look and comment. Ben knew that they would spread the word on what they thought.

Evidently the word was good, for the next day, a wealthy-looking old hare came through the door, a monocle on a stick in his paw. The old fellow peered at the figurines, making many 'hmphs' and 'mm's' of thought. Ben stopped paying attention to him as another hare entered, her eyes set on one of the stuffed fish hanging on the wall.

Bartering was the economy of the city, so there was a bit of discussion on how the hare would pay for the trophy. Ben accepted a dozen of her finest potatoes, grown from her garden in the square.

Shortly after she was done, she left with a nod of satisfaction; the old hare came forward confidently, his monocle peering at the raccoon.

"Hmph! I say there, my lad, I'm int'rested in that there statue." He pointed at the jade statue of a ship at sea. Ben considered it his finest piece of art, and he naturally wanted a high price.

In a matter of ten minutes of fierce and determined haggling, Ben was promised a good tablecloth, three pairs of silverware, and four candles, to be delivered by the next day.

As soon as the hare had clapped Ben's outstretched paw in agreement, he gave a loud guffaw of happiness, "Ahhh! Now here's what the bally market needed! A bally fellow that can stand 'is ground! Top hole, chap, hope to heaven that we'll meet again! Ne'er had so much fun in bally seasons!" Chortling, the hare left, carrying the jade statue with him.Ben had surprised himself when he realised that he had enjoyed that as much as the old hare had. When the old hare returned the next day to deliver Ben's price, they had gotten to talk about much as they laid the cutlery and cloth out.

After that, Ben began to gain quite some popularity, and his shop was visited by many eager customers.

Over time, due to the several buyers per day, Ben's shop grew to look much more professional and comfortable, and work was the reason why he was kept away from Thornback the day that the badger left for the mountains.

Ben now had a set of plates to go with his cutlery, a new roasting spit hung over the kitchen fireplace and his cupboard crammed with food so that he had to obtain a second pantry for more, and he had two pans and kitchen tools for cooking. Ben had made an extension to his house; a cellar under the kitchen. Smoked and salted meat hung from the rafters, fresh ale lay in a large barrel.

The shop and upstairs chamber was also furnished. Ben now had a rack for coats by the door, a door mat, and new glass for his windows. The raccoon had scrounged around, seeking antiques, and there was almost always some new addition to replace those sold. His stuffed animals were always appreciated, and his carvings were reported to get better by the day. In his spare time, Ben had learned to play the fiddle, and whenever he went out drinking in the pubs, his fiddle was often heard.

He surprised himself at how settled he was, compared to the nomadic life he had lead for most of his life. Many times, he would look at his shillelagh as he worked, grin, and say, "Ah, if my father could see me now."

In truth, his father could likely see him, for he was almost certain that his father was not dead. No, he was far too young to be dead of age.

Ben had grown up in a family of six children, a very rare thing for a raccoon mother to have. His father and mother had been named Franklin, and Eleanor. Benjamin had been the fourth child among four brothers, and one sister that was the apple of her family's eye.

The family were wanderers, never staying in one place too long. Though they had stayed in one village for well over five seasons, this was only to wait for the younger children to be able to keep up with the older creatures' pace and endurance. They got along with each other, and that was all that was needed in that situation.

However, raccoons are born wanderers, as are youth. So it was that the oldest of the brothers, Dwight, went wandering on his own almost as soon as he was old enough. He made his own goodbyes to them all, and left them in the morning. As a youngster, Ben and his sister Alanis had wept over the departure of their oldest brother. Their parents had taken them and tried to tell them that it was in a raccoon's nature to wander. This had not persuaded them, for they swore they would never leave their parents. His father had smiled at that, and had taught Ben how to make a shillelagh.

Dwight and the second oldest, Pierre, both had shillelaghs, while the third brother, Alexander, disliked the weapon. Ben was ecstatic when his father taught him how to make one. In no time, he had made four shillelaghs on his own, all of them gone in another three weeks in frustration. His father had encouraged him to keep trying, and finally, Ben had made the weapon he had only ever dreamed of. It was flawless, perfect, made to last forever. It was the one he kept for the rest of his life.

Pierre spent another two seasons with the family before heading south, for the nice, hot climates and the golden sands. Ben had wept again, but not as much as the first time. He barely reacted when Alexander heard of a war going on, and took his battleaxe north-east to find it. However, he was surprised at what his younger brother Stephen did five seasons after Alexander's departure.

Ben had kept his promise to his parents, and he had stayed with them even though he was the age that Dwight had been when Dwight had left. Franklin was looking much greyer than before, and Eleanor seemed to have gained some more wrinkles, but both his parents were still fit. Alanis was blossoming into a beautiful young creature, and Stephen was the age that Alexander had been when he left. However, he did not go far. Stephen had noticed a little gully of pure fresh water, with many trees and good soil nearby. It had been a beautiful sight, and Stephen had constructed not only a house for himself, but he had also started an irrigation system in order to farm the land. Ben had smiled in humour, but still hugged his brother when the family moved on, leaving Stephen to his permanent home.

Ben had begun to think that he would always be with his parents and his sister Alanis, but fate deals terrible blows.

One night, the wind had been cold, and it was decided that the family should stay somewhere for the evening. Alanis, still a small child, had volunteered to go find a cave.

Even as she had broken off, she darted forward with lithe energy. Ben still remembered his father's tense look creep onto his face as he noticed a shadow other than their own on the ground.

All three had shouted and screamed for Alanis to return, but it was too late, and a massive owl had swooped down, shrieking its triumph to the sky. In his nightmares, Ben could still hear his sister's death wail, drowned in the howls of her parents.

Eleanor was heartbroken, and Franklin turned haggard-looking. Ben had been shocked at how broken his parents had been, while he himself desperately tried to overcome from the death of his sister. Somehow, the sight of his parents' suffering made it very hard for him to bear the pain.

It was then that his parents vented their suppressed grief on him. It started out small, a snap of temper at small provocation, or impatience with his suggestions, but it got unbearable for Ben. And so, one night, he packed his bags, took the shillelagh that the loving encouragement from his father, and individual determination had made, and disappeared, heading back the way they had come, to find his brother Stephen.

What he had found was a sight of a massacre. It seemed that Stephen had found a wife, and they had begun a little family. Ben came to a burned house, looted of food and valuables. Seeing the bodies of his brother and his new family was the straw that broke his back.

Tracing the tracks of several vermin, he found their camp some distance away to the east. One night, he had crept in, setting the tents and canvas on fire. A rat had jumped out of one tent, only to have his head decapitated by Ben's powerful swing. It was the first creature Ben had killed in cold blood, and blood was what he had taken. Painting his face with the blood of his first victim, he had howled his pent-up grief, fear, and rage against these cruel vermin that now represented everything evil that fate had sent against him.

In the morning, he lay amid the corpses of twenty vermin, all pulped to crow meat by the raccoon's shillelagh and his wrath.

Slowly, singing one of many old songs that he remembered from his home country, he had cut first one, then another, until twenty notches lay in the handle of his club.And so Ben had become a wanderer and mercenary, fighting in wars he did not even understand, crossing lands that few others did, and living on his own. He made friends that he never met again, slew several creatures that he had never met before, and thought that this was how he was to live his life, until he found himself a captive of the Painted Ones, and befriended to Thornback, a badger not too many seasons younger than him, and an outcast of the life he had known.


	28. Chapter 28

27

Oorlog watched as his troops marched forward, rank upon rank, everyone ready to slaughter the impudent forces mustered against the might of the Hunan clan. All the chiefs were there, with all their forces, along with the King of the Millar hordes. Even Lord Ælfer had come, with his own bodyguard of Calador weasels.

The polecat leered at the distant campfires that were the forces of Blackaxe and Ibos. Oorlog knew that the Jeri clan had sent all but the final reserves against the Hunan. Break them now, and the hope would die forever.

Ælfer had asked for little. He desperately wanted to see his estranged son and his nephew dead, for they sparked rebellion. Once they were out of the picture, then his Ealdorship was secure.

The Millars had sent four fifths of their warriors to this battle. Everywhere, the greatest soldiers of both sides had gathered for this awesome fight.

This would be the fight for glory, land, wealth, honour, and for many, death.

Oorlog threw his head back and laughed. All he cared about was the death and rout of the Allied armies.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Ætharr and Ædall had desperately tried to sober the fighters the next morning, but many had gone over their usual limit. While most of Gæruff's old troops and a some of the others had drunk light, many others were vomiting almost as soon as they woke up.

Judos had never seen Ætharr look so worried. The armies were marching forward, and his troops were still recovering from the drinks.

After a few hours, most of them were able to march, but fighting was still out of the question. The leaders hoped that some marching would stiffen the ranks.

So it was that Ætharr, Aletorix, Judos, Ædall, Iola, and Rojo marched out at the head of their force. It was a quick march, in order to catch the Millar horde by surprise. Ferric and Horal would now stick together for the fight, and they marched off with Ætharr. The rest would leave an hour later, and make for the Ridge of the Dead.

Ætharr marched his troops doggedly on through the morning, and only stopped because of the need for some more food.

The high noon sun shone through the dark clouds as the troops rested without fires, for fear of discovery.

Judos had been lying down for a rest when someone had kicked him lightly in the foot paw. Looking up, he saw Ædall, his battleaxe slung on his back, and two hatchets in his paws.

"My cousin wants to see us." Ædall's face was serious as he led Judos to Ætharr's circle of officers.

Ætharr nodded at the two arrivals, "We need to scout ahead, to see if we're heading towards the Millars."

Ferric spoke up, "Beggin' yer pardon, Ætharr, but some o' the troops still need some sobering up to do."

"A third of them fight drunk anyway, so it doesn't matter." Horal had served some time as a soldier, and his new command gave even more insight into the moods of the fyrd's troops.

Ætharr nodded, and turned to Aletorix, "What say you, lord?"

Aletorix was a much respected leader among his troops. He had grown a bit heavier in age, but his fighting skills were still good. His best asset was the wisdom in military strategy, and his experience. Ætharr valued his opinion very much, and asked opinions from him several times.

The theign thought it over, "It would be best if you sent a force ahead, but make sure they travel light, archers if possible."

"Wish we had Jinn for that." Ædall said ruefully.

"I'm good with a sling. I was the best shot where I came from." This was not much of a boast; Judos' only competition at Redwall had been Mellor, and about five other of the older Dibbuns.

However, Ætharr was in no mood to question, "You and Ferric are our best ranged fighters here. Take fifty troops and head forward in skirmish order."

Later, Judos was fingering his sling beside Ferric as they walked on the right flank of their skirmish line. Ferric was breathing lightly, his eyes never resting on one spot.

The troops were mostly from Ferric's fyrd, all of them lean and hard. Most were archers, but a few carried heavy battleaxes or spears. Their job was to form a rearguard in case of a retreat, and such creatures often sacrificed their lives if the retreat became a rout.

Judos felt the wind hit his face, and he knew that they would smell anything before they saw it.

One weasel ran ahead and put his ear to the ground. He let out a whistle that sounded a lot like the call of a robin.

The scouts ducked into a crouching position, fingering their bows.

The weasel that had alarmed the group crawled over to Ferric and Judos, "I can hear footsteps. Great masses of them-coming this way."

Ferric, who was in charge, gave a sharp whistle through his teeth. The skirmishers head towards the unseen enemy's left flank.

The land they were marching in was hilly, with a few trees and large rocks scattered around. For the skirmishers, this was as ideal as it was going to be.

Judos had taken two rats with him and had wandered off to the far left of the group. They crept towards the nearest hilltop, when Judos heard them.

Rushing forward to hide behind a clump of stones, they saw the scattered lines of the Millar clan.

Five hundred rats, stoats, and a scattering of ferrets made a chilling sight as they howled their cheers. Weapons were in greater supply than the vermin, and the banners displayed gruesome images.

As frightening as this was, this was only one third of the Millar forces under Ælfer and their King. The two leaders commanded a third each, while the third unit was led by the King's general. This unit was now being observed by fifty-two Allies.

Ferric smiled. He signalled for the group to go to ground. The forces spread out like water from an upturned glass. In no time, the whole path of the advancing Millars became an ambush.

Ferric fingered an arrow as he turned to Judos, "That sling will go farther than our arrers. You and the others will go first, okay?"

"Aye." Judos nodded. He was glad that it had been Ferric with him. Ferric was a hard leader, but fair and good. His troops liked and admired him, and he earned their trust constantly.

The vermin headed for them, not knowing that they were heading to an ambush. Judos stared straight ahead, waiting for a tap from Ferric, which was the signal for attack.

The vermin approached closer; Judos could see that most were wearing only leather jerkins, hides, or if they were very fortunate, chain mail. They were a rabble.

Suddenly, Judos got a tap in his side: not hesitating, he got up and bellowed his order, "Slingers! Loose!"

Stones whizzed through the air as ten or so slingbeasts launched their missiles through the air in quick repetition.

Vermin bellowed in anger and pain at the sudden appearance of enemy soldiers launching an attack upon them.

Those in the first rank that were not stung by the rocks charged forward in anger, laughing as the small force remained scattered out, trying to fell as many as they could. Two or three fell to stones in the head, but most stones were mere nuisances that caused a sting in the limb.

Suddenly, Ferric loosed an arrow from where he lay. His accuracy was such that his low-flying shaft took a rat through just below his heart.

It was the signal for the rest, and from the crescent line of scattered skirmishers, arrows seemed to fly out of the grass. The slingers had drawn hand weapons and were grouping up to fight in a tight group.

Seeing this little group, the Millars ducked behind their variously shaped shields and tried to advance, but they were too cautious to attack. The sniping was taking several creatures out.

Finally, one suicidal captain roared his anger at this stalemate and led a crazed charge at the heavy armed group.

Judos had drawn the sword of Martin, and he saw his chance for glory. He called to the archers, "Don't kill the one in front! He's mine!"

The captain heard this and laughed. He raised his spear to slaughter the young otter fifteen paces from him and getting closer.

The otter stood his ground, even as the spear was hurled his way. A part of him shrieked to move, but a calmer part of him told him not to move, that the rat had aimed his spear at a target that would jerk away. Judos did not know how he knew this, but he felt that it was correct, so he stood calmly there.

The spear sunk into the ground not a hand's breath from his foot paws, where his head would have been had he ducked.

Something shivered down his back, but he knew that he had gained face, and had shook the captain's confidence.

If the captain was nervous, he did not show it. Far from it, he had drawn his scimitar and had leapt at the otter. Both fighting beasts had a death-or-glory light in their eyes as rat leaped at otter.

Judos finally moved, sidestepped, and beheaded the rat as he flew through the air.

A moan arose among the Millars, and they paused, allowing more arrows to fly.

However, the Millars began to mass their numbers, and would have advanced and slaughtered the ambushers had Ferric not called them back.

They backed away, still firing shafts, cheering their victory.

Judos was shaking as he walked back. He had killed again, but this time, he had not been blind with righteous anger. He had killed rationally, knowing that he could kill him and gain a reputation.

Hearing the praise from the hardened fighters around him made him feel slightly better, but he was also shaken at how much blood had come from the rat's severed neck.

Back at the camp, the story was told again and again for the benefit of all there. Judos was truly one of them, for he had shown both courage and battle cleverness. Ætharr had appointed him to captain, as he had done with Rojo after the fight at Brocovar.

Rojo nodded at the otter, smiling, "Wunderful, Jude. I salute you."

Judos thanked him, trying not to notice the empty socket that his eye had become after the fight at Brocovar.

Rojo noticed his shyness, "I'm getting an eye patch made for it. Would have been finished off with somethin' worse if you hadn't gotten me out."

"Oh, look, Rojo, there's no need-" Judos could tell where this was going. The marten waved the otter's protests aside.

"I'm indebted to you, Judos. Your friends are mine, and your enemies will be my enemies. This I swear upon my entrance to the Afterlife!"

Judos reddened at the seriousness of the oath, and thanked him. To soften the moment, Judos offered to have a drink with him.

'Maybe I can do this,' Judos thought. It felt so good to be in this company of soldiers that looked after each other and made close bonds. It was almost like home for him at this point.

That day, Ætharr took his soldiers to the west of the Millars' path, and headed for Nasinna, which was a nearby fort to Brocovar. It was smaller, more a large town that was walled. This was due to the fact that most raids had always come from this area, on both sides. This made Brocovar and Nasinna key points, albeit Brocovar making up for not having Nasinna. The Hunan had always held Brocovar, leaving the martens in Nasinna alone, for they knew that they could do nothing on their own.

Now, however, Ætharr would stop there, for he realised that Ælfer would march this way, if Jinn was right.

The lithe weasel had sent an agent to warn him of the three battle groups heading in great swathes across the countryside. Oorlog would pursue the joint force of Blackaxe and Ibos, while the Millars took their forces and attacked the individual groups heading out to save Blackaxe.

It was clever, but foiled at the worst spot to be foiled. Ætharr had eluded the attack, and was now heading to Nasinna to warn the populace.

They marched in hastily, noting that most of the guards on the walls and battlements were either too old or too young. Only about a score were hardy warriors, as they had sent their best soldiers to Brocovar after its capture.

The garrison commander was a tough, older marten named Luther. Ætharr had gone straight to him with Judos, Rojo, Horal, and Aletorix. Ædall and Ferric were to prepare the evacuation.

"Why do we need to run? This could hold out for weeks with your force behind its walls." Luther had protested at first.

"If we do that, they'll realise we're here, and the whole Millar force will descend on us. Our army groups will have to decide whether to relieve us, or stop Oorlog from slaughtering Ibos and Blackaxe. We can't do it."

Luther had not known of Blackaxe and Ibos, but he had met up with Kazahley and Jager. They had eluded King Grodellflak's Millar group, at the loss of an entire scout platoon. However, the fighting had been too fierce and long, so as to give the main force time to redirect its path.

"We're going to need all the fighters you can spare. Send those who cannot fight deep into Jeri land."

Luther gave Ætharr a strange look, and leered, "When you've been on the border of Hunan as long as I have, you'll realise I ain't as stupid as me demeanour or age would say."

Suddenly, Ætharr noticed how Rojo stared in reverence at the scarred leader. The Ealdor in Exile remembered how when he had asked for the commander, the martens had spoken Luther's name as though speaking of a national patriotic hero.

He must have shown his puzzlement on his face, for Luther gave a smile, "I know your name, Ætharr of Calador. I have heard of your reputation, and how your people look to you for freedom. So it's int'r'sting to see you don't know me."

Ætharr gave an apologetic look, and turned to Captain Rojo, "Would you introduce this noble to me Rojo? If anyone will give him good credit, it is you."

Rojo stepped forward, "That is the mighty Luther Pelopidas, the original Canis of Bellum."

Ætharr glanced at Luther. The title he evidently carried was translated to Dog of War. In his history on the tribes, he had read of the mighty Sacred Band that was led by the legendary Canis of Bellum. Luther Pelopidas, the victor of a hundred battles, and feared warrior in his day. The Sacred Band had learned of Calador's disciplined shield wall, and had used that as an influence to create the phalanx. It was a block of soldiers with spears outstretched in front of them. That was back in between the death of Ætharr's grandfather, and his own birth. So that made Luther less than twelve seasons older than his father.

Realization hit home to Ætharr, "You fought in the rebellions of the day. You almost won, but you were defeated in the battle of Rhivum. The Hunan proclaimed you and the Sacred Band dead."

Luther's eyes glowed in anger at the mention of the Hunan, "Aye, they would have said that. In the thick of the fighting, I was wounded, and carried into the center of our force. The troop begged me and a few others to feign death, in order to continue the legacy of the Dogs of War. What could I do? I survived while many others died to shield my body. I crawled out of that battlefield with twelve others, and we went into hiding."

As he spoke, twelve of the older warriors came into the halls, all painted with red dye and wearing breast plates of black leather. Beneath the leather, they had chain mail polished so vigorously that it shone. They carried wooden shields painted black. Although most had a few gray hairs scattered in their fur, their muscles were still hard, their faces determined, and their weapons ready. All carried a spear, and either an axe, sword, club, mace, or other such hand weapon.

Luther smiled at the arrivals, while Rojo gaped in awe of his heroes. Ætharr felt a chill that he got when he recognized true warriors. Judos was stunned to silence in the presence of these figures of history.

Luther approached them; throwing off the rust-stained white vest he wore. They gave him armour alike to theirs, but his leather breastplate was inlaid with a golden _P_. He drew his sword, which quality Ætharr had not noticed before.

"_We are the Dogs of War, the Sacred Band_,' Luther and his group chanted,

'_We have escaped death to rekindle the spirits of our people in the wars against our foes. _

_So now we take up arms again, in the name of the three hundred Sacred Band soldiers gave up their lives to let us live._

_The dogs of war don't negotiate. _

_The dogs of war won't capitulate. _

_Forward to the fight, and glory to those who die like soldiers!"_

They ended their challenge with a feral howl, thrusting their spears into the air, and Luther swung his sword through the air and pointed it in a right angle to his upright body.

Ætharr smiled. So the legends of time would rise to fight once again. This time, their struggle would win.

The Sacred Band, now unmasked, brought cheers of happiness from the elderly in the populace, some in tears.

The levy, consisting of fifty-seven beasts, was put under command of Scartail, a grizzled old beast who in turn took orders from Luther. Luther had gained a seat on the council, and the Sacred Band took it as a task to train the levy to fight in a phalanx.

Luther proved to be a very quick mind with much warrior's cunning. When told of the plan, he had approved, but had requested the map of Verfluchtes Land. He said no more on the subject.

Ætharr was in high spirits, knowing his fortune was a gift from the gods. He and the other officers sat with Luther for hours, listening to his experiences, and taken in by the atmosphere he created. Aletorix, about the same age as Luther, acknowledged the marten as a military genius. Surrounded by this admiration, Luther was astonishingly humble. He had no wish to take over from command, rather, he would assist as best he could. The Sacred Band proved to be excellent companions, excluding no one, and gladly socialising.

And so the Dogs of War had risen in the face of the conflict, proving to all present that this would be the battle that decided fate. Heroes would be made, the dead would be innumerable, and for all, the chance to gain glory was there.

So let loose the hosts of war, and the thunder of the gods roar above the earth in the moment of battle.


	29. Chapter 29

28

Darkness. That was all that Thornback saw, felt, and thought. Darkness. Naturally he was dead, for where else could such darkness exist?

What had happened? It was a haze.

He suddenly felt cold, as though a draught had been creeping along.

Memory hit him hard, so that it hurt. They had been in the mountains, looking for the descendents of Fergus, and they had started an avalanche.

He suddenly wanted to weep. They would not be discovered; those back in the Highlands would wonder where they were, thinking the worst. Eventually, they would be given up for dead, but no one would go and find their bodies.'Raga would try,' Thornback thought, 'he would at least attempt to find our bodies. But how could anyone find us under all that snow?

"The spear helped us out. You had thrust the spear through the snow, and when we came to see what had caused the avalanche, we saw your spear. You probably saved your friends because of that."

Thornback was stunned. Who was that? He did not recognise the voice. Thornback suddenly realised he had been speaking his thoughts out loud.

Something was removed from his face, and he saw that his eyes were open.

The darkness he had envisioned was the thick black cloth on his face. The place he was in stunned him beyond the point of words.

He was in a temple. That was the best way to describe it: he was in a building with smooth, hallowed walls. There were pillars along the sides of the rectangular room, shadowing exits and entrances to the room. The room itself was vast and Thornback had a notion that if he were to speak loudly, his voice would echo loudly. He was reminded of the sacred chamber in Salamandastron, for the walls and pillars showed countless illustrations that Thornback could not understand.

At each corner of the room, a large fire burned, coupled with dozens of candles near the front.

The candles were laid out in rows of five, and were laid out on a stand above a group of worshippers. Behind the candles, there was a large statue of a hare crouched in a primitive stance, a white owl with spread wings, and a large animal that Thornback could not place. It was huge, and standing on its hind legs. The face resembled mildly to a weasel, but its face was much bigger, its jaw longer. The eyes were soulful, the nose black, and the fur was a grizzled brown. Its paws were twice the size of a badger's, and it was taller than anything that Thornback had ever seen. The statues were painted elaborately, and built to life size, at least in the case of the hare and the owl. What kind of animal was the third, to be so big?

The badger turned to look at a young female hare. She had bright face, with an expression of happiness now that her patient was awake.

"Welcome to the temple of Ursus and Aves. My name is Harmonia, daughter of Orestes and Pyonice. My father is the high priest, descended from Fergus himself..."

"Fergus!" That one word had breached Thornback's headache, and he gasped his astonishment. The badger tried to get up, but Harmonia put a restraining paw on his shoulder."Rest, sir. You have nearly perished in the mountains, but now you are safe."

"Where are the others? What happened to Jander, Maon? Log a Log?" Panic rose in his heart at the thought of his friends.

"I do not know their names. I know that we have found four shrews, nearly dead from suffocation. They will live, I have heard, as will the hare. The otter and the squirrel are the least affected. The squirrel managed to stay near the top of the snow that hit you. He broke surface as soon as he thought the snow slide had ended and helped us find the others."

Thornback sank back, relief making his limbs weak. They were alive, but many shrews were dead. Was Log a Log one of them?

A half hour later, he was led, by Harmonia, a small room with a table inside. The table was laid out for a meal. Maon and the rest were seated at the table, eating.

"Thornback! Are you okay? Where were you?" Jander had sprung up to clap him on the shoulders.

Skipper thrust a bowl of hot soup at him, "Here, check out this soup. They melt snow, boil it, and put in some mountain herbs. Does wonders to ye, matey!"

Thornback pushed the bowl away, "Where's Log a Log?"

Silence fell. One of the four shrews stepped up, "Jander had him up against the wall, but he ran back out to help us. He pushed me to the side, and was hit by a chunk of ice. It near tore 'im apart, he was screaming blue murder. Then the ground beneath both of us slipped, and he plunged down...screaming all the way from what I heard afore I passed out." The shrew was shaking, remembering the ghastly moments of Log a Log Gunnar's last moments.

Thornback filled a glass with water. He raised it, "To the shrews that perished this day."

The other animals chinked glasses, and sat silent.

Harmonia bowed her head, "I feel for you, sirs."

Suddenly, Thornback remembered Harmonia's ancestry, "You're descended from Fergus, are you not? That's what you said before."

Maon and Skipper stared surprised at the badger.

"Yes. I am the second child of Orestes, who is descended from Fergus."

"The second child?" Maon spoke up. Thornback noted he spoke strangely, then he realised that Maon was trying to suppress his accent. The second son of Mungan had a strange glow in his eyes, too.

Harmonia smiled politely at Maon, "My older brother is named Priam, and we have two other siblings, a sister (Helle) and a brother (Diomede)."

Maon stood up formally, "Ah must apologize, lady. Ah-er-I've not introduced mahs-er-myself properly. I am Maon, second son of Mungan, brother to Macrath and Machar."

Harmonia smiled again, "Ah, we have something in common then, Maon. And thank you for being such a gentleman." She gave him a small curtsy to Maon, who blushed beneath his fur and looked coyly pleased. Jander winked at Skipper when no one was looking.

"Ah'm sure it sounded like bezoomny-er' he looked mortified for a brief moment '-er I mean nonsense. Mah speech is, miss, is-"

"-Is very unique, and I like the sound of it," Harmonia completed the sentence for him. He twiddled his toes on the ground, his ears went erect, and he muttered something about her eyes.

"So where are we, marm?" Skipper spoke up to hide Maon's embarrassment.

"You are in the temple of Ursus and Aves. We worship the great spirits of the north, for they protect us and allow us to live a humble life."

The shrew that had described Gunnar's death- his name was Anton- spoke up, "Who are Ursus and Aves?"

"Ursus is the great bear of the mountains. Aves is the snowy owl of the wind. Both led Fergus to this place, who in turn welcomed a group of young hares with ideals of him."

"So they worshipped the owl and bear of the land?" Thornback had never heard of that name, but the idea of that huge animal existing in the mountains gave him shivers.

"Yes, but the worship of Ursus and Aves is an old worship. It is said that the Highlands was originally a small colony founded by a determined group of pilgrims. They dedicated their colony to Ursus and Aves. However, the variety of hares that arrived, coupled with several other visiting creatures, caused the religion to slowly die out. In the time of Bucko Bigbones' construction of the great buildings and neighbourhoods, the religion was an embarrassment to most, for it represented an old age. Fergus was ever a worshipper, but one in secret, for there evolved an urge to stamp out the religion. When his sister was killed, he feared that they would spy on him, and realize that he was a worshipper. This meant he could reveal others, so he fled, urging others to follow him."

"And they did." It all became clear to Thornback. This was a refuge for those who wished to worship in peace. "But how can you live this way in the barren mountains?"

Harmonia pointed to the west, "The sea is that way, there are passageways in the mountain that lead to fertile strips along the coast that would never have been discovered had we not found them."

"Very clever of you miss, Ah'm sure." Maon had found his voice again. Harmonia giggled, "It wasn't exactly my idea, rather my great, great grandsire Cadmus, son of Fergus."

Maon shrugged, "Ach, brains tend to run in the family."

"So why didn't it work for you?" Jander couldn't resist that joke. Everyone laughed, and laughed harder when Maon shoved the impudent squirrel's face into his soup bowl.

Thornback looked at Harmonia, "Was your father the only son?"

Harmonia shook her head, "He was the eldest of five brothers, but three wished to go elsewhere, and the fourth is the youngest- he's only ten seasons older than me in fact."

Thornback nodded, "I need to speak with your father. We all do."

Harmonia was surprised, "Well, he has just finished the afternoon rites to Ursus and Aves, so he can see you now if you wish."

"Thank you. Bring your siblings, too, and you might want to hear it too."

Harmonia smiled, "Oh I can imagine what it's about." And she left.

Maon closed his eyes, "Ach, kill me laddies- I'm seeing mirages. An' this is the bonniest lass Ah'll ever see."

Jander giggled, and Anton whispered a joke to his companions.

Thornback clapped Maon on the shoulder, "Pull yourself together, lover boy. We need you more than ever- this is what Ebs and your father have always worked for."

Maon nodded, "That they did, Thorn. So let's settle things for good."

Orestes came in no time, followed by Harmonia, Diomede, Priam, and Helle. Orestes was every inch a spiritual leader. His very presence brought assurance and calm into any room. He looked like a creature at total peace with himself, and the blissful smile he wore enhanced it. However, Thornback could see in his eyes that he could be stern when he needed to be.

The badger turned to the children of Orestes. Diomede, the youngest, looked much like his father, but had little of his optimism and happiness. The hare was slightly snub-nosed, haughty looking, and had a slouchy posture. Helle was the image of her sister Harmonia, but she was built more round, so she looked like a jolly farmer's wife. There was something about her rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, and easy smile, that made her just as attractive as her older sister, if not more.

Priam was the son that Macrath had failed to be. He looked like Maon, in a way: he was handsome, well-proportioned, with a face that seemed to radiate a clever mind and the optimistic mind his father had.

They introduced themselves, and the travellers did likewise. They all sat down, and Orestes turned to Maon and Thornback, "So, Harmonia tells me that you have come because of my ancestor, Fergus."

"Aye sir." Maon answered.

Orestes gave him a little look, as though examining his appearance, but it was only for a brief moment. He spoke again,

"I have always educated my children in the matter of their family tree. It goes farther back than Fergus, farther even than Bucko Bigbones. We know of the past, so would you kindly tell me of the present?"

Maon told Orestes everything about the Highlands, the gang wars, Taskill's regime, and his father's strive to end the need for tyrant gangs. He spoke of his brothers, the departure and return of Ebs, and the recent war that had resulted in the death of Ebs and Mungan. Upon hearing the death of Mungan, Harmonia had looked genuinely sympathetic and offered her sincere apologies. Thornback could have laughed at Maon's coy acceptance and thanks. Diomede was less subtle, and guffawed out loud, only to be cowed into silence by a stern look from his father.

At the tale's end, Orestes looked at Maon, "Well, my lad, what did you wish to find here in the mountains?"

"Weel, we were trying tae find an heir to the throne, or a clue tae the King's Scroll."

Priam looked at him in surprise, "You want our father to claim the throne of the Highlands?"

"Not necessarily.' Thornback decided to intervene, 'If you have knowledge of the King's Scroll, we would gladly wish to have information to it."

Orestes smiled, "The King's Scroll was entrusted to the kings, but Bucko II realised he had to hide it. He confided in his godfather, Airril, who was father to Fergus."

"So did he seek to find the King's Scroll?"

"Bucko dared not endanger the life of his uncle by telling him the location. He gave him a subtle clue to where it could be."

Orestes pulled a piece of parchment from his robes, "This is an exact replica."

Amazed, Maon read,

_Death is near, in the form of battlefields_

_None are guaranteed safe from Death's vast greed_

_If I am fated to die, if I must yield_

_This is the clue for what I owe to creed_

_It can be found not by merely blind search_

_I have hidden it to be safe from foes_

_The clue lies not in castle, house, or church_

_It will be a hard search to end our woes_

_Do not despise me for my many deeds_

_I acted on a full heart my whole life_

_If I'm fated to be carrion feed_

_Then use thy knowledge to prevent blood strife_

_The second clue is found in a place of death_

_Beware not to inhale, be it your last breath_

The hand of the past had reached out and chilled Thornback's heart as he listened to ancient words written by a doomed king.

"Where is the clue? Did you ever find out?"

"We never searched for it. Airril hid it from everyone he knew, for he foresaw that the time for finding it was not then. He passed it to his eldest son Alastor, who gave it to Fergus. Fergus made certain that it was passed from father to son, until the day came to restore order to chaos."

He turned to his eldest son, "And so I pass on this clue to you, Priam. You are the heir to the throne of Bucko Bigbones."Priam was stunned, as he accepted the clue from Maon. He looked at his father, realising, perhaps for the first time, what it truly meant to be a descendent from Bucko Bigbones.

He looked at the travellers, "What do you want of me?"

Maon looked at him squarely in the eye. The two of them had the same strength and determination, despite Maon's obvious rough appearance, and Priam's groomed image.

"Ah doan't want nothin' from ye if ye doan't wish to give anything. Et's up to ye to claim your title. If you think you can rule the Highlands, then come to help us. But if you're not up to the task, then Ah doan't think less o' ye if you refuse. It takes courage to be honest with yerself."

Priam looked down at his lap, thinking. Finally, he looked up, "May I ask you to stay with us? I must think this out for myself."

"Think hard, but we'll wait." Thornback finished the talk by getting up and giving Orestes a respectful bow.

So they would wait in sanctuary for an heir's answer.


	30. Chapter 30

29

Mother Sara was walking towards Cavern Hole when Adisa stepped out of the shadows.

It was supper time and Mother Sara was heading down to her place at Abbott Varrus' side. It was then, walking past the mighty tapestry of Martin the Warrior, that she saw a creature standing in the shadow of the sinking sun and the candles flickering in the hall.

"Who's there?" She had called out, expecting it was some novice stealing a chance to talk to Martin.

When she saw it was Adisa, she stiffened in surprise. However, she could not find a cold stare to give him. As far as she knew, he was innocent of the murder, and she knew nothing of his past actions. Her nature had been to give the benefit of the doubt, and despite Varrus' intense dislike of this creature, she could not be prejudiced against him if he had done nothing.

He merely looked at her for a few seconds, not saying anything. It seemed as though he was inviting her to say the first thing. Sara, however, was surprised that she could not dislike this creature, and she merely waited for him to say what he wanted.

At last, he nodded at the picture of Martin, "What is his name?"

Sara looked automatically at the picture of the smiling warrior, Martin, standing against tyranny and cruelty. How to describe such an awesome figure in Redwall history?

Words came to her, and as she spoke, Sara found more words to say, "That is Martin. Martin the Warrior- well, in truth this is a picture of a grandsire of Martin, who shared his name..."

"... so in a way, this is a picture of Martin the Warrior." Adisa finished amusedly. He looked back at the image, "He must have done great things to be honoured so."

Sara nodded with a touch of pride, "Martin drove out the vicious wildcat Tsarmina and her army of vermin. He helped bring about the legacy of Redwall, preferring peace to war, reason to violence."

Adisa nodded solemnly at those words and without turning around, he said, "That is a lie."

Sara was stunned, and quite insulted at that statement. However, before she could prepare a protest, he spoke again,

"Martin the Warrior was not alone in his struggles. It was not one mouse against a whole army. He was merely the best warrior, and the leader. I have read about those battles, and the construction of the Abbey. There were creatures fighting Tsarmina and her father long before he even entered Mossflower. He had the aid of hundreds of good creatures, some of whom allowed him to command the army in the admittance that he was the best. I do not disagree the fact that he was a good mouse and assisted in the use of reason, but do not say that he was the sole hero. If even a portion of the past is forgotten, then you blight a thousand lives."

The last sentence Adisa spoke was spoken in the bitterest tone of voice that Sara had ever heard in her life. She was speechless at this argument.

Adisa turned to her, "Has Varrus spoken of anything regarding our past?"Slowly, surely, Sara nodded.

It had been an instinct to do: she was as surprised as Adisa was. Why had she nodded?

Because, she thought, I can put two and two together, can't I?

Adisa spoke up, "What has he said?"

Sara spoke again, "He has not exactly told me anything. There have been certain things that make me think of what his past has been like."

Adisa said nothing, waiting for her to begin talking.

Sara was suddenly swamped by a memory; it was the memory of finding the baby Judos in the snow, amidst a scene of death...

_The wind was cold, so Sara snuggled the baby otter in her big paws to protect the infant. The young Raga was walking alongside her, saying nothing. The little Judos gurgled and wept from the cold. Did it realise its mother was dead? Raga was sure, but Sara hoped that it did not._

_Abbott Varrus was the first to see them. He came to the door, glancing at them and wondering what Sara was carrying._

_Sara opened her paws, "This is Judos."_

_Varrus was for a moment, frozen in his position. He gaped at the infant, with a strange expression in his eyes._

_"Judos?" Varrus' voice was barely over a whisper._

_"That's what his mother wished him to be called before she passed." Sara wondered why Varrus had not called for Sister Val. Raga thought the same thing and went off to go fetch her, taking the infant with him._

_Varrus stared at Raga's retreating form, still wearing that odd expression: was it concern? Surprise? Sadness? Relief that the infant was healthy? Sara had no idea of what it meant._

_"What else did his mother say?"_

_"She said that someone named Coldbane was the cause of everything, but I don't know what she was talking about. Are you alright?"_

_"Oh yes. I am deeply hurt when such a poor, innocent creature is orphaned for little reason." There was genuine emotion of distaste, and also sadness._

_Sara hesitated all of a sudden, "Do you know who Coldbane is?"__To her surprise, Varrus nodded, "Yes I do. He is a vile fox that enjoys violence, ale, and privilege. He is a mercenary, quite young, but folk say in ruthlessness he is surpassed only by his companion Blackback."_

_Sara didn't like the sound of the two vermin, "Do you know someone named Judos?"_

_"Judos? Why? Is the infant named for the father?"__"Yes."_

_Varrus thought for about a minute, and shook his head, "Not in my experience. Sorry, my dear. Let us go inside to see if the infant is getting better."_

_Judos had grown up a rebel, and although Abbott Varrus punished them several times, he seemed reluctant to hurt him too greatly. The old otter confided several __times in Sara, stating he wished that he didn't have to punish such a troubled soul for merely releasing frustration._

_Sara felt sorry for Judos too, even when she was furious with the rebellious duo of Judos and Mellor. They had been brought up in a foster home, the same as she herself had been raised. Perhaps had she remembered that, she'd have been able to talk to them. Why couldn't she talk of her past?_

_Varrus. That was the answer. Since they had met as young adults, Varrus had hidden his emotions and his past. Sara had admired the otter, slowly adapted from him, until she was in some ways a copy of him. It had helped her forget the nights of lonely wonder, thinking of what her father and mother might have looked like..._

Tears had poked through, trickling down her cheek as the memories she had repressed came back to hit her. She thought, just as if she was a little badger cub again, despairing on who her parents had been.

Looking at Adisa, she saw that the civet looked deeply pained and saddened. The emotions were genuine, she was certain; who could possibly think this civet evil or cold? The civet pulled out a handkerchief from his pockets, and offered it to the badger. He was no bad influence on anyone as far as she was concerned.

Adisa spoke, trying to calm his empathy-drenched voice calm, "Have you ever spoken of this to anyone?"

Sara shrugged, "I don't know. I don't think I've told anyone, not even Varrus. He knew of my foster parents, but he never knew how it hurt me for so long."

"You should go to supper. Little Ninia wanted to give you one of her honeymoles." Honeymoles were an invention among infant moles that barely shaped moles at all.

Sniffing, Sara thanked Adisa for the gift of a handkerchief before shuffling on towards the laughter in Cavern Hole.

Adisa turned to look at Martin the Warrior, whether Martin senior or Martin junior, Adisa decided that it did not matter. This figure was a good role model for the youth of the Abbey, and thinking of it now, he realised he had been too harsh with his lecture. 'But it is true,' he thought, 'Forget one piece of history, and you blight a thousand lives.'

Suddenly, thinking of what Sara had told him, he was hit with a dreadful realization. At least, for a few involved, it would be incredibly life-changing, and possibly sickening to see their reactions.

Adisa felt more hatred for Varrus than ever, but he did not know how to reveal his secrets of Varrus. If he spoke of them now, then he would be laughed at, antagonized, and dismissed. Varrus was too powerful of a figure to breach from without.

For the second time in less than a minute, the civet was hit with a thought.

A plan to make it all believable. Of course, thought Adisa, it's perfect!

If Varrus has honour, he will agree to it, and if I can make it public, then he will have no choice than to back down.

And then, Adisa thought with a cold relish, the truth will be revealed, and a thousand blighted lives will finally be avenged.


	31. Chapter 31

30

Luther found him first; Ætharr was hurried forward to see the ghastly scene. Judos was still vomiting, trying to sob out his disgust. Rojo and Jinn spat on the ground to show their hatred, but even they made signs against evil.

The body of the traitor, Äal, had been torn to pieces and hung along the rail of a fence. The head, including the face (which was contorted from torture and agony) was stuck on a spear point in front of the fence.

Ætharr felt like collapsing, but struggled to keep his posture straight as he spoke, "What happened?" The answer was easy to give. Oorlog had heard of how Brocovar had been taken, and had blamed Äal for giving false information. He had been accused of defecting to the other side, and a long period of torture had gotten a hysterical confession. The result stood before them on this hot day.

Ætharr turned to Luther, "Marshal the troops and let's head for the Ridge of the Dead. It's about time I see my uncle again." The words were neither cheerful nor joking.

The army spent the day in silence. The marching was hard and fast, for word was that two thirds of the Millars were now pursuing them, while the others were being led by Ælfer back to the Ridge of the Dead, where Oorlog and Blackaxe were both headed.

Judos hoped that Blackback would die in the fight; no, he didn't want that. He wanted to find out about Coldbane.

He had little time to think, for the third day since Luther's recruitment saw them entering the Ridge of the Dead at last.

The first to see them was Redjaw, the former farmer who was now a captain in Blackaxe's army as a scout master.

The marten dashed up to them, "Lords, Blackaxe is heading this way with Oorlog on his heels! There's a change of plans; we're going to fight it out here."

He indicated a low valley, surrounded by steep cliff for the most part. There were only two good entrances, two hills on the south-east and north sides. Ætharr's army was one of the hills, but if they kept going, they would be surrounded and butchered.

"We need to lure them past us so we cut off the exits," Luther said. Redjaw suddenly noticed the Dogs of War, and his mouth open in shock.

"It's you! The Canis of Bellum! The Sacred Band!" He was so overcome that he began to kneel. Looking slightly embarrassed, Luther Pelopidas raised the marten up, stating that he was merely a veteran returning to war.

Judos stared with distaste at the bones which littered the ground as plentifully as the rocks, and he suddenly saw how they could conceal themselves.

"We have to conceal everyone under the bones! Lure them in with a token force, and while they lunge in, the rest of the army emerges in a crescent on their right flank. Half of those seal the exit, and the others get the token force out."

Ædall shook his head in approval, "That could work out. This is a cursed land of the dead, so we'll put fear into their hearts."

Redjaw nodded, "Good! When Blackaxe and the others push Oorlog and Ælfer into here we'll have them trapped."

They prepared themselves for the approaching Millars. Some showed scruples about wearing the bones of the dead, while others suppressed their superstitions and adjusted bones over their armour.

Jinn and Ferric would lead the token force, and Judos would be with them. Horal would get them out, and the rest would seal the exit. That would leave one for Blackaxe to hold.

As the sun was setting, Ætharr noted that the setting sun was red. Fear gripped his heart for the briefest moment, but then the yell of alarm brought him back to reality.

Jinn, Ferric, and Judos were leading three score of the most skilled archers and slingers in a barrage of missiles against the horde that had appeared.

The Millars took the bait. They saw that it was only sixty beasts, and they gleefully ran forward, forsaking caution as usual. Banners flew in the meagre breeze as they were hastened forward.

The battle cries suddenly turned into screams of horror as a thousand torches were lit. The army of the dead was comprised into two groups; one half holding two torches per beast, the other half armed to the fangs and wearing the skeletons of the dead.

Like all savages, the Millars were dreadfully suspicious, and they were gripped in bowel-loosening terror.

Ferric Judos, and Jinn quickly headed in crescent formation towards the hill, still shooting.

The Millars took the bait: like one beast they headed for the other side of the valley to avoid being surrounded.

Ætharr laughed as he and Ædall fixed the sacred banner of Calador into the hill's earth. The entire Calador division of the Allied Army was here, ready to fight.

Suddenly, there were calls from behind them. Whipping around, they saw that it was Blackback and Ervaring, leading their troops.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be driving Ælfer back!" Ætharr shouted out.

Ervaring smiled and gave a nod of his grey head, "You've already done that for us, Lord Ætharr. That was the entire Millar army that you drove back."

Ætharr was stunned. Ælfer was in that contingent? 'Well, he thought grimly, it's about time I visit my doting uncle.'

Judos, who had been peering into the distance, suddenly called out, "Oorlog's come!"

The Allies watched as the Hunan army swarmed over the hill, only to see the Millars crouching in a large, tight group of defence. Behind, them, Blackaxe's and Ibos' banners appeared along with several miniature catapults, which explained how Oorlog's superior numbers had been driven back.

Ætharr yelled in triumph. They had done it! The battle was about to begin, and the thunder of war would clash loudest here.

Comrades were united too. Ervaring was speaking in admiration of Luther Pelopidas, Horal and Ædall were taking their disguises off, cheering their success. Jinn and Redjaw were planning up messages for Blackaxe and Ibos. However, Judos was already approaching Blackback.

He saw the black ferret staring at the opposition grouped together, their two and a half thousand soldiers nearly filling up two thirds of the valley, "Blackback!"

The ferret turned and stared bemusedly at the otter, "What do you want?"

"How long have you known Coldbane?"

The ferret was surprised at the talk of the gray fox, and spoke dangerously, "What's it to you, waterdog?"

Judos stared back, equally threatening, "That bastard is responsible for the death of my village, my parents, and I want to know if you were there when he did it."

Blackback snorted, "Why would I answer that?"

"Because Coldbane is dead, and if you have any honour, you'll tell me the truth about what happened."

The ferret's eyes glinted in the dark, "And what if I refuse?"

"Then you're a spineless coward who has no dignity." Judos' fury was so great that he spat full into the ferret's face.

Roaring in anger, Blackback launched himself at the otter. Judos crouched, butting his head into Blackback's stomach. Another creature might have been winded, but not Blackback. The sable ferret sent a foot paw into the otter's ribs. Yelling in pain, Judos grabbed Blackback's wrist and pulled with all his might.

The ferret stumbled forward, only to be punched in the nose. Blackback responded by whamming both his fists into Judos stomach.

The pair were suddenly swarmed upon by others. Luther and Ædall held Judos back, while three of Blackback's troops held their lord back.

"You're dead, you bastard! I swear upon my life that you're going to hell for this!" Blackback's rage contorted his face, as did the blood from his nose.

Judos was snarling curses back at him when a strong paw grabbed him from behind. Turning in anger, he suddenly stared into the livid face of Ætharr.

"What's going on here?" the Calador weasel's fury wilted the tension, "What the hell are you doing, fighting amongst yourselves just as you prepare to fight alongside each other tomorrow? Stop this right now, or heads will roll. And I don't excuse my own soldiers from that!" He whirled around and stalked off, "Judos! Come with me."

The otter followed the weasel, knowing suddenly that there would be trouble. Blackback's troops were very loyal to him, and if they were angry, then the Allies were in trouble.

The weasel and otter stopped away from the others. The weasel kept his back turned, "Stand straight like a soldier, Judos."

The otter did as he was told, and the weasel turned around, his face still wrathful, "Judos, I know what you want from Blackback, but you cannot have it. Ibos would feel insulted and Nero might tear up the contract I have with him." He was referring to eternal alliance, when Ætharr had gone to the king.

Judos wanted to resist, but realised he could not. Ætharr made his grudge seem so trivial in the bigger sight of things, so he kept silent.

Ætharr shook his head, and said quietly, "I want you on my flank, Ædall on my other. Blackback will guard our far left, Aletorix our far right, with Ervaring beside Aletorix."

Judos nodded, and Ætharr dismissed him.

Ætharr summoned Blackback to him, "Blackback, I apologize on behalf of Judos, and I urge you to forget this whole thing."

The sable ferret stared at the weasel, "Out of respect for you, I will forget this until the battle's end. I promise no longer."

Ætharr sighed in frustration. Blackback had been insulted, and he wanted to avenge it. Knowing that there was no point in swaying the ferret, Ætharr dismissed him after a relay of the plans.

He went to sit down on the hilltop, staring at the soon-to-be battlefield.

Judos approached him, "I'm sorry about before, Ætharr."

The weasel gave a wan smile, "You don't need to apologize twice."

Judos sat down, "I want to know what happened to my parents."

Ætharr lowered his head, "Blackback says he will wait until the battle is over, then he will kill you."

Judos shivered with fear. He had been rash, and now that he was cooled off, Blackback filled him with fear once again.

"There's nothing I can do now, Judos. You'll have to fight him in formal duel."

Judos nodded, knowing that what was done, was done.

He glanced at Ætharr, "You're putting Blackback on the left flank to be killed?"

Ætharr neither agreed nor denied it, "Forget Blackback for the moment, and focus on tomorrow's battle." He spoke with relish, "Today, we avenge our imprisonment by killing Oorlog."

Ædall came up to the hilltop, followed by Jinn and Horal.

"So, cousin, we're all in it now, eh?" Ædall was in a cheerful mood now that they were united together.

Jinn spoke up, "I've sent a message to Blackaxe that we fight tomorrow."

Horal gave a nod of his head, "I've made sure my troops are well rested for tomorrow. Anything else?"

Ætharr smiled, and began to sing, "When on the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo, Hurroo. When on the road to sweet Athy, Hurroo, Hurroo! When on the road to sweet Athy, a stick in the hand, a drop in the eye, a doleful damsel I did cry-"

"-Johnny I hardly knew ya!" The others joined in with glee. The song spread fast, until by the time that the last verse was being sung, all the soldiers there were singing their hearts out.

It was an intoxicating moment for all there. There they were on a hilltop cursed by the dead, facing a horde of foes, and all were in the mood to fight.

Iola stated that victory was in the air, and all believed her, mostly because they had the confidence of the world.

Some had rightful suspicion that it would be bloody work, but they thrust these fears to the side, because to go into battle was to go into battle with a full heart and an urge to survive.

Ætharr sang loudest of all, for he was young, he was good, he was surrounded by friends, he was outnumbered by the enemy, and he would gain glory.


	32. Chapter 32

31

Ben glanced at the spit as he dropped a steak into the makeshift grill. He loved the taste of meat, but there was one specific type of meat he loved above other meat.

He turned the spit, allowing the snake meat to roast properly, listening to the lizard steak sizzle. He had taken a trip to the marshes, and come back with an ample supply of reptilian meat.

Applying a few more spices that he had acquired through bartering, Ben hummed to himself as he flipped the steak over.

Ben was enjoying his success: his antiques were just the thing he needed. He had scrounged around for antiques, bartering for them and looking for discarded ones that could be valued.

His business was respectable and popular. He was a good haggler, but he never asked too much.

However, he was now facing pressure from Macrath to replace Maon as his lieutenant. It would likely mean he would have to close down the shop every couple of days, and he would lose his neutral status. However, he was a mercenary, and could be bought, but for how high of a price?

Macrath was ready to go on a rampage and start a new war. He had found ample recruits in the past few weeks and they made up for his allies' disinterest. The allies of the Black Rabbits had recognized Mungan as a worthy leader, and the replacement was not nearly as good. These gangs remained neutral and only the Razor Blades- by far the most savage and bloodthirsty- agreed to fight under Macrath.

Raga had tried, and failed, to persuade Macrath to end his plans. However, he did succeed in persuading the hulking young leader to wait for the opportune moment to strike. This meant a watchful peace with much suspicion of suspects. Of course, that had been a while back, and Ben had little idea of what was going on now.

Ben saw from the sizzling meat that it was ready, so he speared the brown steak onto a fork and put it on his plate. The snake was added too, along with three salted potatoes and a solitary carrot. Ben didn't take to vegetables as much as the others did, and he never ate bread at dinner. Gulping down the carrot as fast as he could, he followed it with the rest, drinking from the ale in his pint-sized cup.

As he munched on the slightly burnt snake meat and salty potato, he thought of Thornback and the others. Where were they? No one had come back, and no news had arrived: they could be dead for all their friends knew.

Finally, he turned his attention to the steak, savouring every flavourful bite. He was careful not to make this part of him aware to the strictly vegetarian hares of the Highlands. To most animals he met, it simply wasn't right to eat meat, and it was mostly the vermin that ate meat. True, the otters, shrews and even some badgers enjoyed fish, but Ben preferred a lean breast of bird, or a steak from a lizard to fish.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door.

Ben looked up, the last of the steak poised for his open jaws. His shop was closed at this time: it was either someone sent by Macrath, or someone sent by Taskill.

Ben chewed casually on the last piece as he reached for his shillelagh. He crept for the door, pulling out his key.

He never opened doors normally: a foebeast could easily stick a knife into you and bolt away before anyone noticed. He either used a password, or he opened doors from the side, ready to bludgeon an assassin or vandal.

He turned the key in the lock, called out, "Just a minute!" and stepped to the side, his shillelagh poised to strike.

The knocking came again, louder this time. Ben paused just one second, wondering why he hadn't thought of using a password, before pulling the door open.

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Thornback was amazed at the lifestyle of the religious cult followers. The mountains, brutal and cold, sheltered a number of deep valleys of average soil, and some truly magnificent lakes. There were a number of pine groves, blanketing parts of the valley. Food was farmed, or fished, and wood was supplied for in a way to preserve the forests best as possible. Stone (and even some metal) was quarried from the mountains, and the hares' clothes were woven from the grass that grew in the lowest parts of the mountains.

As at Salamandastron, there were homes carved in the mountains, along with a single, large assembly hall for religious purposes. This hall formed part of Orestes' home.

Maon too, was enjoying the scenery, but he often did so with Harmonia and her father. Orestes and Maon talked a great deal about politics, and they would compare the systems they came from, and of course, Maon was kept busy in his business of wooing Harmonia.

Anton and the shrews had left, due to the death of Log a Log: an assembly of the shrews had to be made in order to elect a new Log a Log. Normally, the Log a Log chose his heir, but Gunnar had died without doing so, and it was to be settled democratically.

Thornback and the others grew to like Priam a great deal: the hare was sensible, honourable, and strong-willed. He was a good talker, and he had an honest, good-natured face.

Diomede was the opposite of his older brother: selfish, arrogant, and bitter, he was quite a disappointment to his father, or so the friends thought amongst themselves. Diomede was a bully to those younger or weaker than himself, for though he was a slimy wretch, he was lean and fit.

Helle was a kind, motherly soul that was beloved by all who knew her, slightly more responsible than her older sister. However, there was little weakness of character in Harmonia, and she was a sweet, happy creature. Diomede was in truth, the only wicked one, surrounded by good.

Thornback could see, in a way, how he defied his father, but there was no rightful cause that Diomede was fighting for.

Priam consulted everyone on what he should do. Thornback, Maon, Jander and Skipper gave information on the condition of the Highlands. His friends were evenly split on what he should do, while his sisters were desperate to keep it his own decision. Orestes spoke with his son only once; he had taken him aside and spoke with him for an hour. When Priam emerged, his heart was no closer to making a decision than before.

However, his decision would soon be influenced by the events that shook the household of Orestes that week.

It was just before dinner that Maon, Thornback, Jander, and Skipper were reading through the books in Orestes' library, wondering what Bucko II's clue meant.

There were plenty of places that Thornback knew were deadly to stride into. But he could not think of what the last line of the sonnet meant to say. Where on this earth was the air toxic to breathe in?

Thornback thought of the ocean (How can a beast breathe in water?), the mountain mines (Many miners developed a heavy cough), and even a fireplace (smoke can kill you).

All three of these locations were shot down by the others.

"Why would Bucko hide et in the ocean? How would we get et back?" Maon said.

"The mines are always being reshaped, an' all a matter o' creatures go in and out every day. It would be a bad place to hide something," Skipper commented.

"The clue would have melted in the fireplace!" Jander had stated matter-of-factly.

This left Thornback irritated, "Well then think of something else, why don't you?"

That was much easier said than done. Maon could not get more elaborate than a tunnel or a volcano, and Skipper knew even less of deadly places.

Suddenly, Jander spoke up, "The marshlands!"

The marshlands outside the Highlands nursed a deadly air that was said to cause a variety of diseases if entered.

As soon as Jander explained this, Skipper was surprised, "How d'you know that?"

"There's a bog near the shores of Salamandastron. Supposed to have an assortment of vile toads and lizards."

"How do they live in a place that is dangerous?" Thornback asked.

"Not all bogs are dangerous, but there are some that spread fevers among creatures that aren't used to living in the swamp," Maon explained.

"So how do we enter this one?" Skipper asked.

Thornback had the answer for that one, "Ben told me that whenever he goes through marshland he wears a handkerchief dripping with urine to his face."

"_What _does he do?!" Maon exclaimed, shocked.

"Urine contains a substance known as ammonia. It prevents harmful particles in the air to enter your body when you breathe."

They all whipped around to find who had spoken.It was Priam. He was leaning casually in the doorway, wearing the troubled look he had worn since he was asked to claim the throne.

"What's wrong?" Maon asked.

"I have been thinking hard about what you have told me. And I want to ask one thing more," said Priam.

"Anything, matey," chimed Skipper.

Priam gave a ghost of a grin, and his face grew serious again, "Can I practice my religion freely?"

There was a pause, and Maon stood up, "As king, ye'd certainly be able to worship Ursus and Aves in peace, an' even eff ye weren't king, ye'd be able to practice your religion. The age of persecution is long gone: they'll attack ye for your gang alliance, but they don't give a weasel's knife aboot yer religion."

Priam was cheered by the thought of safe practice, but the idea of gang violence made him pause. Then he said, "Could I bring others with me?"

"Of course you could, Priam. We're not saying you have to abandon your family and friends. As long as they want to come, they're welcome," Thornback answered.

Priam smiled at the look of agreement on Maon's face, "Well, I know one person who'd want to come." He left an embarrassed but secretly ecstatic Maon.

"He meant Harmonia! Ah know he meant her, by the gods!" Maon was restraining himself from leaping into the air.

"He might not have meant her, Maon. I think he was talking about Diomede," Thornback spoke darkly, thinking of the wild and wayward second son of Orestes. Diomede had relished in the gang wars, and he frequently asked questions about Taskill when Maon and his father were not around.

At dinner, the group was silent, until Thornback laid down his fork and spoon.

"Is something the matter, Thornback? You haven't finished your dinner," Orestes commented lightly.

"Sir, my friends and I have discovered where the next clue is hidden. It is in the bogs to the south of the Highlands."

Orestes frowned, "Those marshes are not like others, Thornback. These are dangerous marshes to tread through."

Priam spoke up, "They know how to combat that obstacle, father. Thornback knows of ammonia."

Orestes smiled amusedly, "Ah, there's precious few who know that scrap of knowledge. Well then, you seem ready to face it. Do you wish to go by way of the tunnels?"

"They extend that far?" Skipper asked.

Harmonia spoke up (Maon became very attentive), "Oh no, they go as far as you were on your second day of journey. It would be easy to go back to the Highlands from there."

The four friends were surprised, "How did you know where we were?"

"We have a feathered friend in these parts," Orestes stated happily, "She is a seagull named Walla, and she sometimes flies over the Highlands. If you want, she could alert your friends about your arrival."

"She came by this morning,' Helle continued, 'and we asked her to go see what is going on in the Highlands. She should be back soon."

Orestes turned to his son, "Priam, have you come to a decision?"

Priam hesitated, prompting Diomede to speak up, "I'm going with them, father."

Thornback and the others were stunned, and angry. However, how could they say no to him?

Orestes solved that, "Diomede, you are not to go. You have far too much to learn about morality and other things-"

"-You mean you want me to be a chivalrous, knee-bending weakling you made Priam,' Diomede said scornfully, 'He may not want to go and be the king, but I do. I want to claim what has been ours for centuries, and just because you don't want to take it doesn't mean I can't have it."

Anger appeared on Orestes' face for the first time, "How dare you talk to your father that way! You are disrespectful and arrogant. You are to stay here!"

Diomede smirked, "Priam won't go, he's too much like you."

Priam stood up; he was taller than his brother and he glared down at him, "I was actually about to mention that I have made my decision: I am going to the Highlands, and end the violence caused by Taskill."

Surprise paused everyone for a moment, and Orestes put his hand on his eldest son's shoulder, "I'm proud of you, son: I support you whatever you choose."

Helle tried to smile, but she faltered, thinking that she would never see him again, "Goodbye, Priam. You'll make a good king."

Diomede laughed bitterly, "Oh aye, he'll make a bally good king! He's going to turn the Highlands into a bleeding heart's kingdom, getting rid of the strong ones like Taskill!"

Maon turned red with anger, but Harmonia stood up first, "Shame on you Diomede! Taskill is an evil, cruel dictator who has killed many good creatures! And you wish to support him?"

Maon looked suddenly bemused at her passionate defence of his father, and Orestes noticed it too.

He glanced at his older daughter, "Do you also have something to say?" Harmonia suddenly blushed a deep red; she tried not to look at Maon, but her glance twitched to the corner of her sight.

Maon got up, "Ah'll say et, et's proper Ah doan't embarrass Harmonia." His left paw shook mildly, but he managed to end his blushing and look dignified.

Jander, for once, said nothing. Diomede got up and walked out in disgust.

Maon knelt in front of Orestes, "Sir, Ah am smitten by yoor daughter Harmonia, an' Ah will never find another like her anywhere else (Harmonia's eyes glowed). Ah must ask for her hand in marriage."

Orestes looked at Maon, back to Harmonia, and then to Maon again, and he stood.

"Will you take care of her, Maon?"

Maon looked right in Orestes' eye, "Ah'd step in front of an arrow meant for her eff et saves her."

Orestes looked at his daughter, "Harmonia, do you wish to have this hare?"

Tears pricked at Harmonia's eyes as she nodded vigorously, "Yes, father."

Orestes smiled, and took her paw, and placed it into Maon's, "You have my blessing."

Harmonia and Maon looked at each other then, and Thornback saw true passion between them; they were meant for each other. Everyone smiled at the union, Helle and Jander offering each other handkerchiefs.

Suddenly, from the window, a figure came flying in with a loud call. It was white, save for dark-grey wings and a black-lined tail. It's beak and talons were yellow.

"Walla!" Harmonia squealed in surprise, "Walla! I'm going to be married!"

Walla's eyes lit up, and she cawed in happiness, "Wonderful! Who's the lucky lad?"

Maon stepped forward and bowed, "I am."

Walla suddenly lost her look of happiness, and her face went grim, "Maon, son of Mungan. I have horrible news for you. Macrath has been slain."

A stunned silence enveloped. Maon was pale with horror, Priam and Helle staring stunned. Thornback exchanged looks of fear with Skipper and Jander.

Orestes stood up, "This is not a fitting moment to hear this."

Maon shook his head, "You will tell me,' he said in a cracked voice, 'what happened to mah brother." Tears flowed down his cheeks, and Harmonia squeezed his paw in sympathy.

Walla sighed, "Brace yourself then..."

Macrath had listened to Raga's advice for a short time, but he had realised that the longer he waited, the stronger and more suspicious Taskill would get. He decided to launch an offensive against the tall hare.

Black Rabbits and Razor Blades were sent on forays to execute bloody skirmishes. Several of Taskill's neighbourhoods were raided, and Nativists were killed.

Macrath led several of them himself. He developed a reputation for being a savage warlord and brilliant executioner.

Taskill was quiet for a time: if he arrived at Macrath's targets, he always came too late.

Macrath was thrilled with the success, insisting that they go further into the Nativists' territory. His hares were ready, he was entering his blaze of glory, and he would avenge his father.

One day, he set out to attack a neighbourhood near the Nativists' headquarters. As usual, he was ahead of his troops, and he was in mood for blood.

The raid began normally; the raiders had fire, and they brandished their torches and weapons, but this time, Macrath suddenly spurred farther ahead than the others. This was always the case, but the lieutenant seemed to slow his hares down as Macrath ran farther and farther ahead.

It soon became clear, but it was not quick enough. Slaying the treacherous lieutenant, a large hare named Earnan called to his lord in an attempt to warn him.

It was too late. Arrows hissed from the dark buildings bordering the small square to hit Macrath.

Taskill had brought only the most skilled archers he had, and they did their work well. Two arrows were sent into each leg, crippling the hare.

Macrath howled in pain, and fell forward. An arrow sunk deep into his lower spine, severing it completely with a sickening crunch. Earnan, who was a son of Mungan's sister, wept in frustration, for a large block of fearsome-looking hares were blocking them from entering the square. Earnan was taller than the others, and he was able to watch what happened.

The archers revealed themselves, lead by Taskill. The archers shouldered their bows and hefted spears. Wailing and screeching like an infant, Macrath was flipped over, and pinioned to the ground by the spears, one in each limb, another through his lower torso.

Taskill, who rarely smiled in victory, had a look of fierce smugness and mockery on his face as he drew his knife, "Die like your father, you babish bug bastard!"

Macrath was blinded right there, for all to see, and his demented wails of anguish almost drowned the hares who ridiculed him.

Taskill looked at Earnan, "I'll tell you somethin' hares! I'm goin' to cut this hare up piece by piece until he dies. Once he's dead, our cawnflict is done with! Now unless you want to die, clear awff and spread the word. Oh, and I'll send his remains back for burial!" The last sentence was spoken with as much scornful afterthought as the tall hare could muster.

Earnan's face was grim as he turned to the hares, "Someone has to go tae Ben and tell him to watch oot." They left, appalled at what they had just seen done to another creature. It wasn't the violence, but how it had been committed.

No one noticed the large seagull, who had watched the whole thing, take off and fly for the mountains.

Helle had left the room to avoid hearing about the death of Macrath. Priam and Orestes were pale at the description of such violent behaviour committed so cruelly. Thornback shook, biting back vomit, and Skipper and Jander's faces were black as night.

Maon had fallen to his knees, sobbing. Harmonia knelt beside him, tears running down her face, and she embraced her fiancée. Slowly, the others approached, offering their condolences.

Maon thought of his brother before their father had died. Macrath had always had a fearsome temper, but he had suppressed it for most of the time, and he looked very promising to be the next leader of the Black Rabbits. Mungan's death had caused him to take control prematurely, and suppressed grief had distorted his judgement and morality.

Helle ran back in, devastated, "Diomede is gone! He's left!"

Walla cursed, and flew back out through the window, promising to see when he reached the Highlands.

Attention turned to Maon, who had become silent. He was now gazing at Harmonia, barely moving. He turned his gaze to the others, and looked down again. He spoke softly, "Ah will find Diomede, Orestes. An' Ah have grieved for Macrath, so now Ah will look to mah wedding.' He paused, and frowned, "They always said et was a bad sign for the groom to weep jus' before his wedding."

The humour brought small relieved smiles to the others' faces. Maon would be alright, he would marry Harmonia, and they would return to the Highlands.


	33. Chapter 33

32

Adisa marched boldly into Cavern Hole, ignoring the looks he got from other creatures. He had come up with something clever, and he would use it to gain what he wanted.

Sara, whom he had just spoken to, looked up in surprise at his sudden appearance.

Adisa walked past her and stood by Varrus' great Abbott's chair. The civet had wondered how this would be played out. Would he approach on bended knee and be humble? He doubted he could ever approach this individual on bended knee, even in an act. He decided to be upfront, in order to capture the attention of those assembled at the dinner table.

Arly called out to him, asking him something. Adisa did not listen: instead he looked at Varrus, who now looked at him over his spectacles.

The old otter was cautious, "Is there something you wish to say?"

The civet smiled, "Yes indeed. I would like to submit to the rules of Redwall Abbey."

A silence enveloped, except for the creatures who whispered what was said down the long tables set out for dinner.

Varrus was completely surprised, "I beg your pardon?"

"I said that I would like to humbly become a Brother of Redwall, under you as Abbott." The tone of his voice made his talk of humility slightly ironic, but many were so stunned that they did not notice it.

Varrus did notice it, and his bushy eyebrows twitched, as though he was restraining himself from raising them.

"You wish to take the oath of the Abbey?"

"On two conditions."

The three words spoken by Adisa created a wary silence. What did he mean by these conditions? Would the past of Varrus and Adisa finally be explained?

Varrus had little idea about where this would go, but a part of him did not want to find out, "Go on."

The civet paused, and spoke, "Firstly, the oath will not be permanent, and I will be free to leave after some period of time."

"And when will that be?" Sara spoke up suddenly.

"That leads us to my next condition," there was no denying that Adisa was enjoying the suspense and melodramatic air he was creating.

Varrus merely looked at him.

Adisa leaned in close to Varrus' face and whispered, "I want you to tell the truth."

Varrus blinked, and he knew his worst nightmare was confirmed, "What?"

Adisa spoke louder, "I want you to inform your creatures what the history between us is. It is only fitting that the abbey dwellers know about their Abbott."

Varrus tried not to blanch as he heard creatures speak up, some for and some against Adisa. Others hurled questions at the otter and civet.

The Abbott looked at Adisa, thinking fast. What was he to do? How could he possibly refuse such a public request? It would antagonize him, and he would be questioned.

"Varrus, if you have honour,' here, Adisa made the word 'honour' sound sarcastic, 'If you have honour, you will swear to this agreement, as I am prepared to do."

I've sworn to something many times only to break it, Varrus thought. Was this another case, or would this salvage some dignity? What did he fear losing more? His integrity or his safety? He had always chosen safety, believing that the end always justified the means.

Varrus gave a little smile, "If that is what you want, then I will swear upon it."

Adisa's eyes flashed with triumph, and spoke solemnly, "Then I too swear that I will hold my part of the bargain."

Varrus stood up and clapped his paws on the civet's shoulders, "Then allow me to welcome you as a Brother of Redwall."

An applause erupted, and Adisa smiled inwardly. Give Varrus this minor victory, for the true victory would be his own.

Varrus smiled falsely at the civet, already thinking ahead on how he could still emerge victorious.

He remembered the last time he had had to go so far to secure his skin...

_He walked down the corridor, walking slowly to Abbott Lyon's chamber. _

_The Abbott was still alive, and the elections for a new Abbott would only be held in the time of an Abbott's death._

_He stopped suddenly, wondering what in the name of heaven he was doing. Abbott Lyon was a kind old creature, who had lived a guiltless life, albeit one fascinated with the ghosts of his family. Varrus had overheard him talking to his father in his chamber, and wondering if Lyon was of sound mind._

_He had been of sound mind, and he had also been absolutely trusting, almost naive in welcoming Varrus into the Abbey. He did not mind it, but a part of him thought, 'If only you knew what I had done. Then again, you would have disbelieved it, for you admire me for my mind and youth and my spirit.'_

_He had been staring at the wall of the corridor as he had thought, but now, as he turned around, he swore he saw a knife, floating in midair._

_Closing his eyes and shaking his head, he still saw it. Fear gripped his heart as he stared at the knife, silver-bladed, with a black pommel and a purple hilt._

_He approached to the room, following the guiding knife._

_Suddenly, he was confronted by a spirit. A mouse in armour, carrying a beautiful sword. Martin the Warrior pointed his blade at the otter, calling out in a voice only Varrus heard, "Be gone from this door, for if you go past me with your state of mind, you will forever be tainted with sin!"_

_Varrus was terrified, but it was not a deep-rooted fear. He had not grown up in the shadow of Martin the Warrior and he only heard of him as a distant legend. Then, when he came to Redwall, he learned more of the warrior, and he knew that the spirit of Martin presided over the Abbey._

_However, he had not come this far to be halted by a ghost. He was a desperate creature, knowing that his election as Abbott would remove all his fears of being discovered._

_He seized the ghost knife, and ducked under the sword. Martin shouted in anger, but made no move to defend himself._

_Varrus lunged with the ghost knife, thinking in his head, 'I do not fear you, Martin. You stop me from getting away with my crimes, so I will kill you if it be necessary!'_

_His blow never struck. Knife and warrior were gone. Varrus stood, trembling with fear, and also with triumph. Now he could kill Lyon, be elected Abbott, and he would redeem himself as Abbott of Redwall. He would be a good leader, and his crimes would be washed away._

_He entered the room, listening to the harsh breathing of the old squirrel. He knew what to do._

_Grabbing a pillow, he pushed it down on the squirrel. Lyon came awake, struggling and choking, but Varrus pushed down hard. Eventually, the squirrel's limbs thrashed wildly of their own accord. Varrus almost snarled with the effort, thinking how pathetic a creature Lyon had seemed._

_Lyon went still. Varrus smiled; it was the beginning of a new period in his life._

_Careful not to touch the corpse, he laid Lyon in a peaceful gesture, as though he had died in his sleep._

_He went to the Abbey pond and washed himself clean. Taking the pillow, he swam to the bottom of the pond, and placed it, weighted by stones, at the bottom._

_He swam up to the surface, and he fancied he breathed his first breath as a new otter. His changed name of Varrus was now to be used properly, and he would be Abbott._

_Of course, he had never reckoned with the fact that one creature, named Slade, had witnessed the scene from his window._

'Stop, stop, stop!' Varrus thought desperately as he turned to his food. His paws were trembling: was this the end of his sanctuary? The discovery of his sins?

Adisa had gone to sit with Arly, and the two were talking. Varrus stared at the hedgehog. What did Alonzo know? He wondered what had to be done to stop this.

How far would this take them down the dark road? How deep would the Abbey be submerged in treachery and corruption?

Meanwhile, Adisa knew he had taken the Abbott by surprise, and he had won. Would it mean a complete submission? Certainly not, but he had the upper hand, and it meant that Varrus would not easily avoid the surrender.

It was typical of the otter: he had always been cautious, careful of his own skin. Varrus was never a true friend, so why had he assumed he was?

Of course, that led to the truth, and Adisa was willing to wait for the truth to be told.

As to the oath of Redwall? Adisa liked the Abbey, and he knew that here was where he could find inner peace with himself and his past.

The Abbey continued with dinner, unaware of the plunge it would take into the deep pool of corruption and hidden lies. No one could foresee the shock that the Abbey would endure.


	34. Chapter 34

33

The shield wall was ready. Ætharr stood in the front rank, Ædall on one side and Judos on the other side. He had helped train Judos to hold a shield, and while it was difficult to train him in only a few weeks, the training sufficed to help Judos have the strength to hold his shield upright.

Kazahley, Jager, Snauw, Blackaxe, Ibos, and Brownhide were at the other end of the hill, their companies ready. The Hunan and Millar hordes were spread out to attack different targets. Their forces were equal to perhaps three and a half thousand- the mustered strength of both tribes.

Luther had taken Ervaring's troops, and quickly instructed them to hold their spears in a phalanx. The Sacred Band combined with them, and they prepared to defend from the attackers. The phalanx wasn't the best, but it would certainly do to give the defenders an advantage.

This phalanx was on the flank closest to the hill occupied by Blackaxe and Ibos. The distance to travel between the two divisions was roughly 250 metres; however, that path was dangerous to cross, for the ground was being swallowed by the horde of Hunan and Millar beasts that were spreading for the attack.

Horal was next to Ervaring and Luther, then there was the group under Ædall and Ætharr, then Ferric, then Blackback, and finally, Aletorix. The Calador groups made well-disciplined shield walls, while the Jeri unit was in a phalanx.

Blackback's group was the concern. They were in neither a phalanx or shield wall, and they were most likely to fall to the attack. Blackback was not stupid, however, and he had organized a line of archers and slingers behind them. There were also tight lines of grim-looking soldiers armed to the teeth. The archers would fire over their heads, and would make a pile of corpses for the enemy to climb over.

The army stood ready as the first assault came at them. It was a mix of Hunan and Millar beasts; about half of the total attacking force was coming at either battle division. It would be a calculated test, on Oorlog's part, and it would unleash the hot-blooded savages from both clans to hack at the Allies.

A howl erupted from the attackers as they sprinted to the line of foes, each trying to get the first kill.

"Hold!" Ætharr could hear Luther taking command of the troops. Ervaring, who was secretly the son of a former Sacred Band, took his orders from Luther Pelopidas.

"Ferric!" Ætharr knew that Ferric, Redjaw and Jinn were behind them, a small number of archers scattered behind them. They began launching shaft after shaft into the masses coming closer and closer.

Blackback's archers had begun earlier, and were in greater number. The Vireo arrows took several dozen down, causing those behind them to falter for a few seconds.

Judos screamed, part in fright, part in fury as the enemy closed the gap. The shield wall and phalanx were thrust forward to halt the weight of the vermin charge.

Rats and stoats wailed as they ran into the spears of the Sacred Band: polecats were cut down by Blackback's axes and swords. The whole line was engaged in the battle.

Ætharr hurled a hatchet into a snarling vermin's face and drew his hand-axe, taken, ironically, from a Hunan soldier at a skirmish in the Ridge of the Dead barely a season ago.

Beside him, Ædall howled as he cut another weasel's head in two with his massive double-bladed battleaxe. Judos grunted as he ran a rat through with the sword of Martin the Warrior.

Rojo cried out in triumph as he swung his mace and chain. On the far end of the line, Aletorix jabbed out with his spear, avenging a weasel beside him.

Blackback snarled as a fox beside him was cut down. He swung his scimitar against the offender, but he realised that his line could not hold for long.

Redjaw saw it too, and he signalled to Jinn.

The Jeri captain flung his troops forward, letting loose slings, darts, and arrows against the attackers. They were mildly repulsed, but many, many more came forward. Redjaw signalled that his troops were to draw steel and charge.

Some turned to look at the marten, but then they saw the light of battle in his eyes. They braced themselves, and suddenly let out a battle cry to rival the shout that initiated the battle.

The martens waded into the fighting, many picking up discarded pikes. They formed a miniature phalanx, striking out of the center of Blackback's line.

Vermin from the Millar and Hunan clans shouted as they were pierced by spears. They tried to mount a counter charge, but several more fell to the spears.

Numbers, however, began to tell quickly. Despite the redoubled missiles from both the Vireo and Calador archers, the miniature phalanx was swallowed by swarms of raging savages.

Blackback cursed as he watched marten get massacred. "Brave fools,' he commented grimly, 'they saved our lives."

Redjaw wailed as he and last few were butchered mercilessly by the bitter Hunan and Millar troops, who after this triumph began to retreat. Ætharr's troops marched forward, cheering in triumph.

The slow retreat quickened its pace, and at the other hill, the forces pulled back temporarily.

The Allies carried the wounded behind the lines to the care of some medics who had travelled with the army. Iola was the chief healer, and she administered immediately to the wounded.

Ætharr and the others laughed in triumph, until told of Redjaw's gallant sacrifice. Tears sprang to the cousins' eyes as they thought of the first time they had met the farmer. He had shown them to Blackaxe's hideout and had become a captain in the Jeri army. His eldest son had enlisted under Jager's command, and now he was fatherless.

Judos had liked Redjaw, and he too shook in grief. His shield paw was trembling from the effort of pushing against the brute force of the attacking force.

They had little time to grieve, for there were over fifty other casualties from the Calador troops. twenty dead was the price of the Jeri unit, while around sixty Vireo were dead. Blackback organised his troops into a fragile phalanx, but with much flexibility.

The Enemy marched forward again, this time marching slower: they had taken over two hundred casualties on Ætharr's hill alone. Now the calculating minds of Oorlog and Ælfer were being put to use.

The Hunan approached in a shield wall that was spoiled with the loose formation of the Millars.

Still, it was a sight that brought chills to some hearts in the Allied ranks. Horal spat on a scratch on his forearm and lifted his shield again as the enemies charged forward.

Missiles were fired from both sides this time, mostly light Millar javelins and Hunan shafts. Luther hissed as he took a shaft in the fleshy part of his side, but was not seriously hurt.

Ætharr swung his axe at the first vermin in reach, yelling insults. A beefy ferret approached, swinging his pike at the Ealdor in Exile's right foot paw. Ætharr hacked at the spear handle with his axe and the point was driven harmlessly into the ground. Ætharr ducked as a throwing hatchet was launched over his shoulder and struck the ferret in his chest.

A fox pushed aside the slain foebeast and attempted to batter Ætharr with his shield. Locked in combat, the weasel and fox were almost nose to nose; both snarled as they tried to break through each other's defences.

Horal was using his deadly skills as a swordbeast slide his blade past shields and into torsos and limbs. Ervaring was shouting encouragement as he swung a halberd over the heads of the first rank.

Judos was hit with a dart in his thigh. Shouting in pain, he brought his sword down where the neck met the shoulder. The polecat he had been facing was killed in a flash.

Suddenly, Blackaxe' lieutenant, Ironspur, was killed, and a gap was formed in the Vireo phalanx. Three Millars leapt gleefully forward.

Blackback was a mask of death as he buried a curved knife into the groin of the first one. Ignoring him, the black ferret hacked off the arm of the second, while grabbing the third by the throat. The rat managed a last slash at Blackback before suffocating. The slash caught the ferret in his leg.

Not even looking at the wound, Blackback stepped forward with pike in his hands, intending to fight. Someone applied a bandage to the bleeding cut, and still the ferret did not acknowledge the wound.

Ædall was wounded in two places; a sling stone had hit his nose, and an arrow had pierced through his breastplate to imbed itself lightly in his chest. Tearing the shaft out with his teeth, he threw a hatchet at a rat that had just slain a weasel two spaces down the line.

The fighting was brutal, and the bodies were piling. Jinn had been sent by Ætharr to see what was going on at the other hill, and the lithe weasel had not returned.

Blackback's troops were suffering, for they had never mastered the shield wall or the phalanx. Their makeshift one eroded down to a line after the enemy focused on it.

And then, just as Blackback saw it before it happened, the line was broken through. Now there was a gap in the line which was the only thing between the enemy and the hill's escape route.

Blackback suddenly realised that they would all die if the gap widened. So he went to take it back.

Taking five others, he launched a counterattack, hacking madly at the offending vermin. His sword was sticky with blood, and he looked like a mad creature.

The Vireos tried to follow, but were forced to defend fiercely. Blackback was soon surrounded along with his five henchmen.

Judos saw this and realised that he had to act, regardless of any grudge he felt for the ferret.

He turned to Ætharr, "I'm going to save Blackback; I need Rojo and thirty Calador!"

Ætharr nodded as he decapitated another Hunan foe, "Go quickly and come back faster!"

Judos and Rojo ran behind the line of fighters to the gap, where some beasts in the rear already had to watch their backs as the enemy broke through.

Judos discarded his heavy shield and screamed a war-cry. He was a fighter, and he would prove to all that he could fight as well as anyone, even Martin the Warrior himself!

Judos had now gained the soldier's pride, and he would harness it to stay alive.

Beside him, Rojo swung his mace and chain so hard that he beheaded a fox with his blow. Judos severed the throat of another foebeast, and led the thirty weasels forward. The thirty were mostly unblooded soldiers from the rear rank who wanted to slay a few enemies before the Allies either won or lost.

They tore straight into the conflict surrounding Blackback, calling out insults and battle cries. One large weasel used his shield like a battering ram, and his large claymore cleaved through vermin two at a time.

Judos dodged and ducked blows from rabid Millar beasts. He was quicker than them, more agile, and he could use his tail as a deadly club. His rudder shot out and cracked the leg-bones of his enemies. One Hunan weasel grew wise to it and swung his axe at the tail as it swung to him.

Judos would have been tailless for the rest of his days had a scimitar blade cut off the forepaws of the offender.

Judos stared; Blackback had not needed to do that, but based on the look in the ferret's eyes, the otter realised that the ferret acknowledged Judos saving his life, and now returned the deed. But as Judos thought about it, he also saw the double meaning to it. Blackback had repaid his debt as swiftly as he had owed it, and so now they could fight to the death afterwards on fair terms.

Judos put it out of his mind as he ran a stoat through with the red blade of Martin the Warrior.

Rojo had grouped the Calador platoon and Blackback's guards into a shield ring that was preventing the foe from exposing the gap, which was being closed even as they fought.

Ætharr was pulling back, allowing the Millars to gain the slope of the hill. This meant that the fight was turning into an uphill charge for the foes. Rather than press on, the enemy suddenly allowed Ætharr to pull upwards.

Judos, Rojo, and Blackback would be left stranded, but Ætharr knew that. He gathered his guard and prepared to get them out of their fix.

Rojo, however, was already pulling them back. Judos and Blackback were suddenly fighting side by side, defending each other's flanks. In the back of Judos' mind, he was stunned at the turn of events. He was to fight this creature after this battle? Were they to try and kill each other when they had just saved each other's lives?

Blackback suddenly grunted. When Judos turned to look at him, he saw that Blackback had an arrow in his upper chest.

Judos did not even hesitate in grabbing the ferret and breaking ranks. The otter passed them to get the ferret to safety.

Ætharr saw him coming, and called for assistance, and a medic. Iola came bounding forward and helped Judos carry Blackback to the rear lines.

The ferret, who had made hardly a sound, now growled as he was laid down on his back. He stared grimly at the otter, "I would kill you after this fight."

Judos stared, appalled almost to tears, "I just saved your life! Do you not get tired of this madness?"Blackback sneered, "You must think I am once again in your debt? No. I took that arrow for you. I saw an archer and his mate talking, and they pointed at you before the archer took aim."

This time, a tear did flow down Judos' cheek as he stared at the ferret. Blackback frowned at the tear, believing the otter was acting unmanly.

Judos realised then that this was necessary to be a killer. He had to able to fight alongside someone, and then fight that very same creature. However, Judos knew that not all killers were as perfectly cold-blooded as Blackback: Ætharr would show remorse, or mercy, and many others Judos knew. Rojo and Ferric would certainly have told him that they forgave him if Judos had saved their lives instead of Blackback.

Blackback flinched in pain, and Judos knew it was now or never: he had to ask of Coldbane, "Blackback, tell me of Coldbane."

"What is there to tell?" Blackback snarled after a pause.

"Did he ever attack an otter colony in Mossflower?"

"Aye. He attacked more than just otters. I knew him for a long time, and we made many orphans and widows." He stared into space for a brief moment; was the slow death eroding his coldness? Was he opening up to the otter beside him?

Judos pressed on, "Did you ever know a male otter named Judos?"

At this name, Blackback frowned: then a slow knowing smile crept upon his face, "Oh I knew him. Not so surprising that you're his son."

Judos was puzzled, "What do you mean?"

Blackback turned to look at Judos for the first time since admitting that he had taken the arrow for Judos. His face had a strange emotion, and Judos realised it was pity and concern. Just as he opened his mouth to answer, he gasped.

Judos flinched as Blackback coughed up frothy blood, and was still at last.


	35. Chapter 35

34

Blackback, along with the other casualties of the battle, was given a hasty funeral, whether it be a cremation or a burial.

Ætharr was grieved, and also mildly relieved, at the loss of Blackback. The ferret had been a savage fighter and a good leader, but he had also been merciless and without scruples.

Judos now stood at Ætharr's side again, with Ædall on Ætharr's other flank. The division was grouped tighter together, for they were near the top of the hill.

Oorlog was now personally leading a division of his troops towards Ætharr's army. Grodellflak was headed off against Blackaxe and Ibos with his own personal guard: both leaders had mixed the tribes together, but Ælfer had stayed with Grodellflak.

The shield wall was joined. Blackback's former troops had been merged with Ervaring and Luther's troops.

Jinn had returned just as Blackback had died. The casualties were heavy on both sides at Blackaxe' hill. Ibos had been wounded when trying to mount a charge. An arrow had pierced his leg, and Brownhide had pulled him back. Blackaxe had angrily put Ibos at the rear and taken full command.

Ætharr was glad of this, but was nervous of the fact that Blackaxe had been driven from his original position on the level ground just before the slope. He was now almost off the other end of the hilltop. He had received the greater part of the assault, and his martens never had mastered the shield wall. This meant that every marten had to slay at least twenty vermin without getting killed themselves. It was harder for Blackaxe, so Ætharr would now hatch a surprise attack to drive the enemy off of Blackaxe' hill.

Oorlog's division gave a roar and linked shields in an attempt at a shield wall. They were getting used to it, and they advanced more or less in unison. The Millar troops, hating such organization, arrayed themselves mostly in behind the first two lines of shields.

Ætharr bellowed at a rat in front of him: with a last moment of hesitation, the lines met with a crash.

Judos felt crushed between his shield and the shield of the one behind him. If two shield walls are attacking, they push as hard as they can to drive the other back, even as they swing their weapons.

Ætharr snarled in anger as he slashed at a polecat, wishing it was Oorlog. He saw the polecat in the third rank or so, laughing as he yelled his army onwards.

Little did Oorlog know of Ætharr's secret weapon; He had removed Luther and Ervaring from the fight, and all the Vireo and Jeri were hidden behind the Calador lines. They were preparing to save Blackaxe and Ibos from defeat, so they would charge through the flank of Oorlog's attack, and advance towards the other hill. It was meant to distract Grodellflak's troops, and give Blackaxe a breathing space.

Luther Pelopidas, the leader of the Sacred Band, the Canis of Bellum, would now save his clan chief from death.

Ætharr gave them ten minutes before giving them the signal. He called out in a loud voice, "Unleash the Dogs of Waaaarrrr!!!"

Like a tide in the early spring, the phalanx appeared, the Dogs of War in the lead rank.

Spears held rigidly together, they charged forward, past the split ranks of Ætharr's troops, and straight into the vermin.

Oorlog's troops either split away or died as the phalanx marched on, their spears menacing like a hedgehog's spikes, the war cry of the Sacred Band in the throats of the phalanx. For some of the older warriors in the Hunan clan, those words were enough to make them shake like the devil himself had come up from hell. Luther had died! It could not possibly be him in the front!

And yet it was. Luther Pelopidas had returned from exile, and had now come to turn the tide for Blackaxe.

The phalanx marched on, across the valley, attempting to link up with Blackaxe' troops. Seeing this sudden emergence of history, the troops under Blackaxe were motivated forward. Blackaxe himself led the counter charge, his intelligent face alive with malice as he wielded his giant battleaxe. Jager was there too, snarling, and limping from a dagger still in his haunch. Snauw shouldered a wounded soldier as he beat away at foebeasts with a sabre. Brownhide called encouragement as he speared a fallen enemy in front of him. Kazahley led the Hunan renegades forward against the Millar savages, only too eager to exterminate such pitiless monsters.

Luther and Ervaring led the Jeri/Vireo phalanx into the heart of Grodellflak's guard. The king led his bodyguard forward, massive rats and stoats armed to the fangs and covered in armour, a rare sight among the Millar troops.

Ætharr growled at the effort of pushing forward against a scarred weasel. Beside him, Ædall was attempting to bludgeon to death a foe that was crouching behind his shield. Judos too, was occupied as he exchanged blow for blow with a grinning rat.

Ætharr cursed as he tried to bull forward, but the weasel was too clever and attempted to stab Ætharr's leg.Ætharr glared as he dodged, wondering how he could defeat his opponent. He swung his axe, only to have it parried. The weasel returned the compliment by denting Ætharr's shield with another push forward.

'How can I beat this bastard?' Ætharr inwardly raged as he pushed against the foebeast. Then a coldness crept into him, a cold, calm fury that somehow released his mind and made things look strange. Ætharr realised that he was seeing everything go slower than normal. He could be faster than this weasel, and he could find a weakness.

Ætharr waited for the weasel's next strike, somehow knowing that it would be for his leg.

He was right, and he blocked it with his shield; quick as a flash he leaned forward and bit the weasel on the neck. The foebeast cried out in surprise and pain, and his voice became shrill as Ætharr buried a hatchet into his heart.

Ætharr smiled coldly as the opponent fell. He had never quite felt this way in a fight. He knew from several lessons that the longest-living creatures in a shield wall fought sober and dangerously calm. It was a wonderful sensation, and Ætharr put it to good use against a tattooed stoat that approached him cautiously.

Despite his discovery, he felt a panic as he saw that his group was being pushed back. They were being driven up the hill, towards the calm. Many Calador weasels were dying, and though the foes received the heavier punishment, they had many more soldiers that were fresh and unblooded.

Suddenly, Ætharr saw Aletorix struck by a spear in his chest. The old weasel's face was frozen in an expression of arrogant dignity and battle light. He gripped his sword tightly, and with his last strength, drove the blade into his slayer.

Screaming, all calmness gone from him, Ætharr pushed his way out of the ranks and ran behind the line to where Aletorix lay. The veteran theign smiled in recognition of his lord.

"Aletorix!" Ætharr slung his hand axe to his belt loop and began to pick up the weasel that had been one of the first reinforcements to come to Ætharr in time of need. It had been Aletorix that had taught him so much, helped him selflessly, and it was Aletorix that died in front of Ætharr, the true Ealdor of Calador.

Rage, the old rage of battle, came into Ætharr as he pushed his way into the nearest space in the shield wall, screaming Aletorix' name as he swung and cleaved.

Oorlog suddenly appeared in the third rank: he did not see Ætharr, he was busy laughing and kicking troops forward. Ætharr redoubled his efforts to get at his hated foe, but the enemy pressed harder and harder.

'It's over,' a voice said, 'it's over, and Oorlog has won.' Ætharr tried to thrust that fear aside, but it echoed in his head even as he blocked a blow from a savage-looking Hunan soldier. His mind began to set into the urge to die like a proper hero and soldier on the battle field.

Suddenly, from above the din of battle, Ætharr heard a faint horn. He recognized it at once; Jinn!

Ætharr was able to look over the heads of the attackers, being quite tall, and on top of a slope. He saw, among the rocks, and the steep cliffs, two figures standing against the sky. Both were wiry creatures, but one was bulkier than the other, even though he wore no armour.

The second soldier was dressed in a chain mail coat that had obviously been built for his body in particular.

With a jolt of astonishment and emotion, Ætharr saw that it was Rosheen. She stood with Jinn, both picking up spears.

Ætharr's mind reawakened with fear; 'No', he thought, 'I will die here if I must, but please, not Rosheen and Jinn as well!'

He stared so fixedly upon the two, that his opponent too, turned around to look. Soon, all the creatures around Ætharr, Calador and Hunan and Millar, turned to observe Jinn and Rosheen.

A third figure joined them: this creature was massively built, a great shield on his arm.

Ætharr wondered who that could be, and watched as they charged forward with war cries on their lips.

The Hunan and Millars that were watching began to laugh. Three new soldiers to turn the tide? Then, to their horror, they saw it was not three.

From out of the scraggy hills, an army appeared and charged. They made shrill cries that sounded like demons from hell. A great, dark green banner appeared to catch the light. It had a golden harp upon it.

Ætharr was stunned; Rosheen had brought the Falcarragh tribe to fight for Calador.

It was then that a new spirit possessed the Calador host, and they cheered as they advanced. Many had ceased to watch the advance, but now they fought like they had never fought before.

The Falcarragh tribe took both hosts in the rear, slaying viciously. Normally, those in the rear ranks of an army are those who are the most unwilling to fight, so the fight turned into a rout.

The Allied army, for the first time that day, united as they drove their enemies back. Blackaxe was screaming in triumph, Jager was swinging a halberd at enemy eyes, Kazahley was laughing in relief.

Ædall roared exultantly, Judos screamed as he slew, Horal duelled fiercely with unwilling partners.

Ætharr made for Oorlog, screaming the polecat's name. Oorlog turned, attempted to sneer bravely, and swung his machetes at the upstart weasel that challenged him.

Rojo and the others of the high guard made a protective circle about the duelling ground, staring at the lord whom they loved more than their tribes.

Ætharr swung his axe at Oorlog's legs, missed, and stepped away from nearly losing his head. The weasel ducked behind his shield as the polecat battered away with his blades.

The coldness came back, and Ætharr knew that this was vengeance for a scarred back and imprisonment in a cage.

Pulling a hatchet from his belt, his action was not seen by the polecat, who thought he had his foe beaten. Laughter of victory on his lips, the polecat raised his blades for the final blow to killed Ætharr.

Nobody would ever see anything like what they then witnessed. Ætharr dropped his shield and flipped back so expertly that he almost made a perfect circle in the air.

Oorlog paused in surprise, and as he landed back on the ground, he swung his hatchet harder than anything he had ever thrown in his life.

It plunged just above oorlog's groin. The polecat bellowed in pain, even more as Ætharr drew his axe back and cut off Oorlog's fore paws.

Mercy fled from the weasel as he hacked at this most hated of foes, whom he had wanted to kill for a long time.

Finally, after breaking the polecat's spine, he swiftly beheaded Oorlog, ending the polecat's wail.Rojo and the others cheered themselves hoarse, Rojo weeping as he kissed the paw of he that had slain the Jeri tribe's worst enemy.

Many others cheered even as they eliminated the Hunan and Millar armies. Everyone was calling out, to show each other that they were alive and well, unlike many of their friends.

Rosheen came charging forward, and she embraced her lover in ecstasy. Not knowing whether to weep or laugh, Ætharr pushed her away for a moment, "How did you do it? How did you possibly persuade the Falcarragh tribe to join us?"

Rosheen suddenly looked shy, and the large weasel that Ætharr had seen earlier approached Ætharr, "A great day for the slaughter, eh?" His accent was the same as Rosheen's, and Ætharr realised who it was.

"My father is Tiarnan. I am his only daughter." Rosheen finally admitted it to Ætharr, who stared in amazement and began to laugh.

However, he did not laugh long. The prisoners were rounded up: there were only a hundred prisoners, and only because they were Calador weasels.

Ælfer was wretched in defeat. He shook like a coward, staring wildly at his captors. He paled when he saw his estranged son, "Ædall! My son!"

Only Judos truly saw the frozen look on Ædall's face. What does an exiled son say when his father is at his mercy? What does he do?

Ædall had no chance to speak, for Ætharr stepped forward, "Remember me, uncle?"

Ælfer turned and looked upon his hell: Ætharr had come to look a lot like his brother, and now he was the one to die. Whimpering, the traitorous weasel knelt in a terrified homage.

ֹMercy was a nonexistent word to Ætharr: he nodded to Rojo and Jinn. They grabbed the blubbering Ælfer, but just as they were bringing him to the Ealdor in Exile, Jinn suddenly stopped in surprise.

Darting among the hundred or so Calador weasels, he pulled out a hard-eyed weasel with many scars on his face and arms, "Ætharr! It's Eadwig!"

Ætharr was stunned and enraged. A theign had supported Ælfer to the point of coming to this fight.

Eadwig's troops, who had mostly fought with Ætharr, stared at their theign with a contempt rivalled by no one.

Unlike Ælfer, Eadwig stood proud and arrogantly at the weasel, "I sided the one whom I thought would win, and I will die with honour."

Fury enveloped Ætharr, and he walked into the crowd of prisoners. Pulling out his long axe, he beheaded Eadwig right there on the spot.

Pointing his bloody axe at Ælfer, "You shall not receive such a swift death!"

So began the long, painful execution of the traitors. None had a longer and more torturing punishment than Ælfer, who screamed for a long time before dying.

Upon his eventual death, Judos and Ædall seized Ætharr and escorted him forward, to face the Allies.

All cheered out his name, hailing him as the Ealdor of Calador.

Ætharr himself was consumed with thought. Eadwig had been a great warrior, so why had he joined a traitor?

The answer was simple; temptation of power. Power is one of the most tempting things on this planet, for without it, there is no urge to succeed, to win. There are few things that drive a creature as hard as the pursuit of power, of victory, of honour, of glory.

Ætharr realised this as the main reason for the death of his father, and why Oorlog had fought so hard and desperately against the rising tide against him. He had wanted power, as Ætharr now felt it at his finger tips. He had always commanded respect and loyalty, but now he was a proper Ealdor, just as his father had been before him.

And so, Ætharr of Calador stood on the hill, the rightful Ealdor at last.

**End of ****"Ætharr of Calador; Book Two: Temptation of Power"**

**Stay tuned for "Ætharr of Calador; Book Three" (title soon to come)**


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